


Devil's Plaything

by Spruce_Moose (Duckyboos)



Series: The Damnation Game [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Angst, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Fluff, Gun Violence, Librarian Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Possessive Dean, Rough Sex, Snarky Castiel, Tattoos, Violence, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Spruce_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Aren't you a bit old to be playing twinks and robbers?"</p><p>One chance meeting with local badass Dean Winchester - President of Leviathans Motorcycle Club - challenges everything that Castiel thought he knew about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Trashed, Lost & Strungout

**Author's Note:**

> The title for the fic is a song by Danzig.  
> The title for this chapter is a song by Children Of Bodom.  
> Please be gentle; this is my first ever fic and it's been sitting on my computer for ages. I had to close my eyes when I pressed the 'Post' button!  
> Oh yeah, some knowledge of biker gangs was gleaned from SoA, but the rest is research and random knowledge.
> 
>  
> 
> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)

Castiel inhaled a wheezing gritty breath as the heavy fog around his mind slowly began to clear and he fought his way into consciousness.

The first thing he noticed as he came round was the smell. It was the metallic smack of blood, which was something that he’d become more than accustomed to since his dalliance/liaison/ _relationship?_ with Dean had begun, but there was an underlying odour that he couldn’t quite fathom out. He struggled to force his eyes open; they felt too heavy and his whole face felt stiff and odd, his skin felt too tight like it was shrinkwrapped or something. He ran a tongue over his dry, cracked lips and tasted a coppery tang. Great. A dribble of sweat ran from the nape of his neck down between his shoulder blades.

Almost restored to full awareness, Castiel realised that he was bound to something – most likely a chair judging by the smooth wood feel under his ass – his arms were behind his back, tied with what felt like nylon rope and a quick attempt to twist his wrists against the rope resulted in nothing but a painful burn and a slight notch in his fear. His ankles were bound to what was almost certainly the legs on the chair and Cas tried the same tactic as he had with his wrists. It yielded the same frustrating result.

He glanced around looking for something sharp. The room was small and dimly lit by a small desk lamp on top of a metal table with wheels. He didn’t need to strain to see what items were laying on the shiny surface; various scalpels, a corkscrew looking thing, something that vaguely resembled a double ended fork… He turned away and closed his eyes. It was so clichéd of the ridiculous torture movies Gabriel had made him sit through, and under normal circumstances, he’d be laughing at how passé it all was, but his rising terror was more than enough to quell any small hilarity he found in the situation.

He looked to his right this time, choosing to ignore the _Hostel_ style scene on his left and saw nothing but a concrete wall about 5 feet away. There was nothing on the floor surrounding him besides a heavy layer of something that resembled dust or sand, but it didn’t quite look like either. He had absolutely no idea where he was and worse still, no way of getting out. The dread that he could feel clawing at his heart was growing incrementally until he let out a small noise of panic, twisting against his bindings despite his earlier findings, because he had to do something. He couldn’t just sit here and wait for torture or death; he had to get the fuck out! The rope was biting into his wrists and he was sure that it wasn’t just his sweat helping the lubrication anymore. _Fuckfuckfuck_.

What the Hell did they want with him anyway? He was a goddamned librarian for fucks sake!

**Dean.**

Of course Dean. This had to be some crazy bullshit that he’d gotten himself and the Club buried into and Cas was just collateral.

_God fucking dammit Dean Winchester, you’d better be on your way to saving me or I’m gonna haunt your ass so hard, you’ll never-_

His thoughts were cut off by the thud of a heavy sounding door groaning open and he stopped struggling, panting hard and chest heaving. Two sets of footsteps echoed on the concrete behind him and he strained, looking over his shoulder trying to see who the fuck these assholes were.

A man appeared next to the torture table. He was dressed smartly, as if about to take a business meeting, head to toe in a powder blue suit with a crisp white shirt underneath. His eyes were grey – like his hair and small goatee – and hard, completely devoid of empathy or compassion. His thin mouth twisted into a cruel smirk as he looked at Castiel dispassionately.

“Do you know why you’re here Castiel?” His voice reminded Castiel of scissors cutting through wrapping paper; sharp and lisping.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Cas’s throat in lieu of an answer.

The man frowned; his brows drawing together. “Something funny, Mr Novak?”

Castiel smirked, ignoring the small pinch of pain when he felt his lip split again; his fear was palpable, but there was no way he was going down without a fight.

“You been laid recently?” Cas’s voice cracked when he spoke, sounding even lower and gravelly than usual. Damn he was thirsty.

The man appeared almost started by the non-sequitur. “You what?”

“I only ask because if you haven’t, it might be a good idea to. Sooner rather than later, ‘cause I don’t think you’ll have much of a later.” Castiel aimed for nonchalance and judging by the sharp intake of breath he heard from the other unidentified person somewhere behind him, it hit the desired mark.

“Dean teach you that kind of sass?” The man sounded amused.

“Nope. Learned it all by myself. Though, Dean has taught me a few useful things.”

The man picked up a scalpel off the table, twirling it between his fingers as he walked slowly towards Castiel, slightly off-kilter smile in place. Castiel swallowed hard, trying not to let his fear show.

_Where the fuck is Dean?_

“Yeah?” The man stopped about a foot in front of Castiel, his heavy boots crunching the grit underfoot. “Like what? How to suck dick like a good boy?”

Castiel looked up at his captor’s face. It was easier to see the scars littering the man’s skin now; one above his left eyebrow, on his lip, across his left cheekbone… They were all little nicks out of his skin; It looked like the guy had been hit with a nail bomb or shrapnel. They were recent too; still purple, not the normal white of scar tissue. He idly wondered if Dean was responsible for the scars. He kind of hoped so. He didn’t dwell too much on the idea that if Dean had harmed this guy, that maybe the situation Cas found himself in now could be some kind of retaliation.

Castiel threw the guy a dazzling smile. It hurt, but he knew that the sight he presented – covered in blood and grinning like a psychopath – was far from the quiet little librarian from Denver they imagined they’d kidnapped. As far as defence mechanisms went, it was weak, but at least he was defying their projected opinion of him and not crying and begging for his life. The thought made him laugh, deep and dark.

“If you wanted me to suck your dick, you should have said. Not that I don’t appreciate the bondage.” He tugged at the ropes binding him, for emphasis.

“Jesus,” The other person in the room muttered.

“He can’t help you now,” Castiel quipped calmly. “Though it may not be a bad idea to make peace with your maker,” He looked at the man in the eyes. “’Cause you’ll be meeting him soon.”

The punch that landed on his cheek caused his head to snap sharply to the side and it felt like the skin had split. The blast of pain barely registered through; he was too revved up on adrenaline and fear. He’d suffer for it later though.

 _If I have a later_.

Castiel spat out a wad of saliva and blood that landed at the guy’s feet. Shit, he’d been aiming for his shoes. “What do you want anyway? I’m a hole for Dean Winchester to fuck. I don’t know anything.” A small amount of exasperation made its way into his voice.

A tutting sound came from his right and then there was a woman standing there, looking at Castiel with a mix of scorn and surprise on her face. He supposed she was semi-attractive; her long blonde hair was… nice? But her dark eyes were too far apart and her mouth had too many teeth for her to be anything other than average. She was dressed in a grey pantsuit with black pumps.

_Good thinking, can’t do with getting blood on your Jimmy Choo’s._

For a split second, Castiel pondered on how ridicuously gay he was to be thinking about designer shoes when he was potentially about to have his brain pulled out through his nose, but his homosexuality had been well established the first time he’d let his first boyfriend, Michael, stick his –quite frankly, average - dick up his ass.

“Come on now, Castiel.” Her voice didn’t match her body, it seemed both too slimy and old for her. “Do you really have that low an opinion of yourself? ‘Cause we know exactly what and who you are to Dean Winchester.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. _Fuck_.

“Well, then you should understand what kind of shit you’ve just brought down on yourselves.”

The man bent over, so that his face was inches from Cas’s and a grin spread across his face like an oil slick.

“We’re aware.”

Castiel closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

How the fuck had he gotten here – to this point? How had he let himself get into a situation where he could potentially be kidnapped by a maniac with a dentistry kit and a penchant for blood? When did he get so obsessed with Dean Winchester that he no longer gave a shit about anything else? Including his own safety? In fact, the answer to that last one was pretty simple; He’d become infatuated with Dean the second he had laid eyes on him. He’d been screwed from the very start, and even now, under the promise of a brutal death,he still couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Any of it.

Fuck Dean Winchester and his fucking handsome face.

 

 

***

 

This was why Dean didn’t have old ladies. Or whatever the male equivalent was, ‘cause Cas was very much a male with his runner’s body; all strong lithe muscles and toned abs and _fuck_ Dean needed to find Castiel and hurt the guys who took him.

The Club had had a meeting to decipher what they should do about Cas; they all had differing opinions as to who had taken him and why and it was something they’d been trying to pre-empt in light of recent events, but Cas – ever the stubborn asshole – hadn’t listened to Dean; had gone to work at the library as normal and according to the Prospect that Dean had assigned to watch Cas, that’s when he’d been taken.

Dean knew he’d been an unbearable bastard in the few hours since Cas’s kidnapping, but none of the guys held it against him. They’d all be the same if their old ladies were taken from them.

Dean started when Sam dumped a large black duffel bag of guns on the table in front of him.

“That’s all I could get our hands on at short notice.”

Dean stood up and with slightly shaking (though he’d deny it to his dying day) hands pulled the zipper open to reveal a mix of guns; there were some Glock 17’s, 9mm’s and various shot guns. He nodded his approval and zipped the bag back up.

His brother was looking at him with pity in his eyes and Dean couldn’t deal with the sympathy he was getting left, right and centre. So he did what Dean Winchester always did; he acted like an ass to avoid talking about his emotions.

“Stop looking at me like that Samantha. You’re getting on my last nerve.”

He threw himself into his chair and scrubbed a hand across his face. He desperately wanted a smoke, but he and Cas had quit together. He’d made the blue-eyed bastard a promise that he wouldn’t smoke again under any circumstances.

 _God fucking damn it._  

Out of frustration, Dean banged his fist down onto the wooden table, making Sam jump like the big girl he was. Dean’s lips twitched as he fought against a smile. He was nothing, if not a poster boy for maturity.

“Dean, he’ll be okay, he can hold his own.” Sam said softly, shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking at Dean as if his brother were a wild animal and Sam was wearing a suit out of meat.

Dean’s head snapped up and he stared at Sam with his eyebrows raised. “Oh yeah? I’m sure he can hold his own completely unarmed and surrounded.”

Sam rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Dean held up his hand; he wasn’t done.

“He’s a fucking librarian Sam! What’s he gonna do, read them to death? Club them over the head with some Dickens?”

Actually, that sounded too much like Cas. Dean could imagine Cas kung-fuing his way out of a warehouse full of Die Hard villains with nothing but a copy of Slaughterhouse Five. And in all honesty it was one of the hottest things ever. Cas was already most of Dean’s kinks wrapped up in a sexy as Hell package, but the night he’d found out he was a librarian? Whoa, that had been it. Game over.

Judging by Sam’s smug smirk as he lugged the duffel over his shoulder, he knew exactly what Dean had been thinking about and if Dean had any shame, he’d probably be blushing right now, but he didn’t. Shame was a useless emotion anyway.

Dean’s phone vibrated on the table between them and he lunged to answer it.

“Winchester.”

There was the crackle of static and then a familiar, but no less creepy voice was at the other end.

“Dean.”

It was the voice that Dean had heard in virtually all of his nightmares since his release from prison. It was snake like and sycophantic all-in-one.

“Alistair.” Dean replied coldly, though his heart was starting to pound in his chest. What if Alistair had Cas?

 _Fuckfuckfuck_.

Alistair was a hitman for the Italian Mafia who Dean had met in jail when he was doing his four year stretch for assault with a deadly weapon. The creepy bastard had approached Dean repeatedly trying to get him to become his ‘student’. Of course, with Alastair being a master of torture, it had never been as straight-forward as simply being asked.

During those four years, Dean had been subjected to some pretty gruesome emotional, mental and occasionally physical torture at the hands of Alistair and his cronies and he still had the scars in his mind and on his body to prove it.

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He knew a few basic facts about Alistair, but being as Dean had the emotional intellect of a toaster, it wasn’t something they had covered in great detail.

“I have something that belongs to you Dean.”

Dean froze and his blood ran cold.

_Please not Cas, please not Cas._

Sam noticed his brother tense up and mouthed at him ‘What is it?’

Dean shook his head. He needed to know if this bastard had Cas. His Cas.

“And what would that be?”

“How many blue-eyed angels are you missing, Dean?”

Dean grit his teeth and nodded at Sam, who bit his lap and rushed out of the boardroom with the guns, no doubt to get the other guys. This was going to need all their manpower.

“He’s got quite a mouth on him, hasn’t he?” Alistair mused, filling the tense silence.

Dean hadn’t dared to give Alistair an inch. It was a mistake he’d made in prison and was determined not to make again, but he huffed a laugh imagining Cas with his quick, biting wit, giving Alistair Hell. He felt a small swell of pride and affection for the scruffy haired librarian.

“What do you want?” Dean’s tone was even and calm, belying the anger concealed just below the surface as he began to pace the boardroom, shakily running a hand through his hair.

“That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is what you want.”

And then the phone went dead.

“FUCK!” Dean shouted, flinging the phone at the wall and watching as it shattered into pieces.

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck!” He braced himself against the table; palms flat as he sucked in deep breaths.

As his immediate anger ebbed away into something calmer and more constructive, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing in deeply. How the fuck had he gotten here – to this point? How had he let himself get into a situation where someone he cared about could potentially be kidnapped by a lunatic with a torture fetish and a love of making people vomit up their own lungs? When did he get so wrapped up in Castiel Novak that he no longer gave a shit about anything else? In fact, the answer to that last one was pretty simple; He’d become infatuated with Castiel the second he had laid eyes on him. He’d been screwed from the very start, and even now, under the promise of a fight that he may not come out of alive, he still couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. Any of it.

Fuck Castiel Novak and his fucking blue eyes.


	2. Chapter One - Come Clarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by In Flames.

Castiel was wearing holey Superman pyjama bottoms and a random hoodie that was in definite need of a wash – having snuck out of the house whilst his brother was still sleeping – for what he’d assumed would be a fairly standard visit to the local store to get some milk for his coffee and maybe some donuts for Gabe. _Maybe._

The long drive from Denver to Lawrence on the previous day had been made impossibly longer by his brother’s inane ramblings, absurd taste in music, and Castiel had, more than once, wished for a deity that he wasn’t entirely certain he believed in anymore, for his death to be swift and clean. Sadly, neither God nor luck was on his side and so he had to endure Gabriel singing a bastardized version of Umbrella. On repeat. And while he could just about come to terms with God either not existing or not caring enough to spare him from his brother’s singing, Castiel was getting seriously concerned that God _did_ exist and was in fact punishing him for some transgression in a previous life or something.

When he pulled up outside the store, he vaguely noticed two motorcycles parked up near the doors, but he was feeling sleep deprived and damn it; he needed a cup of coffee before he even attempted to continue unpacking the seemingly impossible mountain of boxes. Let alone dealing with Gabriel.

As he shuffled his way to the fridges, apparently located towards the back of the store, he could hear two gruff voices bantering back and forth somewhere behind him,

“What’s wrong with you Dean? Bert and Ernie are not gay.”

“You ever even _watched_ Sesame Street? Of course they are.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not up for debate, Sammy. Accept it. Deal with it. Move on. Now, Pie.”

It was too late by the time Castiel’s brain had caught on that the bizarre conversation had been moving steadily closer to him and as he closed the refrigerator, clutching his precious pint of milk, he turned around and smacked right into a solid chest. And in the split second that followed, Castiel was insanely happy that he’d been looking down at the milk curiously – trying to decide whether a pint would be enough – because otherwise, he and the stranger who smelled like motor oil, leather and liquor would have been kissing.

When Castiel raised his head to look at the other man’s face, however, he changed that view. If Gabriel had been there, Castiel was convinced that he would have been singing that totally cheesy song from Top Gun whilst throwing rose petals or something, because _hot damn_ the guy was attractive.

The first thing Castiel noticed were the man’s eyes; a shade of green that even in his ‘wafty flowery poetryey’ (Gabe’s words) days at uni, he would have struggled to come up with a description that would do them justice.

It took a moment for Castiel to realise that the guy had stepped back and was carefully regarding him. _Checking for injury or checking me out?_ Castiel desperately hoped for the latter.

“You alright man?” So apparently this was the one that thought Bert and Ernie were gay.

“Bert and Ernie are just friends.” Castiel blurted, inwardly cringing as soon as the words left his mouth. It was just his luck that on the day he meets a handsome stranger he looks like an extra from Dawn Of The Dead.

_I really am being punished…Was I Hitler or something?_

The guy snorted a laugh and was about to reply when the apparently massive guy who was in Castiel’s corner on the whole Bert-Ernie-gay thing appeared in his line of vision, slightly behind Dean.

 “Dean, I’ve paid. You comin’ man?” The other man, ( _Sammy?)_ was standing awkwardly behind Dean, shifting an open crate of beer that he balanced awkwardly on one arm, the other holding a carrier bag that clinked as he moved. He was massive; bigger even than Dean, but they were dressed similarly in dark jeans and a leather jacket with t-shirts underneath.

Dean flashed Castiel one last smile, showcasing a mouth of straight white teeth and then they were both gone, the bell over the door tinkling to signal their exit. Castiel absolutely did _not_ take the opportunity to check out Dean’s ass as he straddled one of the bikes out front. Well, maybe a little bit, but _Holy shit what an ass._

Two engines roared into life simultaneously and just as they peeled out of the lot, Dean looked back over his shoulder at Castiel and winked.

After a few stunned seconds, Castiel reanimated and continued his shuffle over to the counter, grabbing some random baked goods on the way. He plonked them down next to the register along with the milk.

“Dean Winchester has that effect on people.”

The checkout girl was grinning at him knowingly. He blinked twice rapidly, frantically trying to pull his thoughts together long enough to at least _fake_ being a functioning human.

“Y-yeah…” _Okay then, socially awkward stutterer it is._

She leaned forward conspiratorially. Her nametag read ‘Becky’. “He’s a total badass you know.”

“Oh?”

She moved back and hummed thoughtfully. “That’ll be four dollars eighty.”

 

***

 

“Mind telling me what that was about?”

Dean rolled his eyes as he knocked out the kickstand on his bike and grabbed the crate of beers balanced on the back. Sam was _such_ a pain in the ass about _everything_.

“What what was about?” Dean replied gruffly, not turning to face his behemoth younger brother. He strode towards the gate leading to his back garden, not bothering to wait for Sam who hurried to catch up. Dean was thankful for the few moments of silence, before – as usual – it was shattered by Sam’s incessant need to know _everything_ that Dean had done _ever._

“You and that guy at the store. Don’t bullshit me Dean.”

“Jesus Christ,” He pushed open the heavy metal door to the old war bunker he’d got when he bought the house just after his release from prison. He’d spent a good year renovating the place into the Club House, so everything was as he and the rest of the Club wanted it. It had everything they needed; a kitchen, a couple of bedrooms for when the guys got kicked out by their old ladies, a pool table and a shooting range. And plenty of alcohol.

The best thing about the bunker though, was that it was about as secure as you could get, what with it being underground. They’d learned the hard way about security when a rival Club had set fire the old place with Sam’s old lady inside. Sam had been damn near inconsolable; He and Jess had been together for a long time, he was going to marry her and it had torn Dean’s heart in two watching his brother going through such pain. Needless to say, the perpetrating club had suffered for their indiscretions in a very violent way.

“He bumped into me. Not an issue.” Dean jogged down the metal spiral staircase.

Sam slammed the door closed behind them. “It looked like an issue to me. Dude was looking at you like you were the fucking Messiah or something.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Dean turned to look up at Sam who was still standing on the landing. “What can I say, Sammy? I got the looks, you got the Sasquatch genes.”

Sam gave Dean his patented bitchface #47.

Dean heard the rumbling of the doors to the boardroom open to his left and when he looked it was his long-time friend and Sergeant-at-arms to the Club, Benny Lafitte standing there.

“Hey boys,” he drawled in a thick southern accent. “Guys are ready for you.” He took the beers from Dean and wandered back into the room, where the other members of the club were already seated around the big oak table.

Dean took his seat at the head of the table with Sam to his left and Benny to his right.

“Okay.” Dean exhaled loudly. “Hit me with it, what went wrong?”

Benny cracked open a beer and passed one to Dean and then started handing them out to the other men.

“Well, Crowley must have found out where the drop was going to be. His guys were already there, holding a couple of the delivery guys to ransom by the time we showed.” It was Ash Lindburg, the resident IT expert who responded to Dean from his chair a few seats down.

Dean stroked his chin thoughtfully, fingers scraping over the rough stubble. “You guys get a few shots in at least?”

Ash nodded. “We managed to hit a couple of Crowley’s guys, but Bobby here,” he gestured across the table at the old guy with the trucker cap, sitting next to Sam. “Got shot in the leg, so we beat a hasty retreat. Can’t have the old coot dying on us.”

“You’d better watch yourself Lindburg, old coot I may be, but I could still kick your scrawny ass.”

Dean glanced at Sam, who was clearly supressing a smile. Bobby Singer was a force to be reckoned with and he could probably give any of the men at the table a run for their money in a fight. He was a grizzled war hero who didn’t suffer fools gladly as well as an invaluable asset to both the club and to Dean and Sam personally.

It had been Bobby who’d taken the brothers in after a fire had claimed their parents when Dean was four and Sam was six months. He was an old friend of the family and had adopted the boys and brought them up as his own. He’d taught them from a young  age how to not only handle a gun, but also a baseball mitt and when they each turned eighteen he’d brought them into his Motorcycle Club as Prospects.

When Bobby had retired, going from President to Secretary, he’d named the then-Vice President, Dean, as his successor. The vote from the Club had been unanimous and for the past three years, Dean had been trying his hardest to fill the boots that Bobby had left. Sam was his V.P. and he was quite frequently Dean’s conscience, because as far as Dean was concerned, things were pretty black and white; they were only complicated if you let them be, shades of grey only existed because people were too weak to finish the colouring themselves. Sam was smart and dependable. Dean was brash and daring; they complimented each other perfectly.

Dean reached into the front right pocket of his jeans, where he knew his phone and cigarettes were. He pulled out the battered packet of smokes and a lighter and offered round the table. Everyone declined politely, so he tapped one out, lit it and took a drag.

“So,” He threw the zippo onto the table next to the packet. “What are we gonna do about this shit now? Crowley was clearly one step ahead of us on this and we’ll lose out big time if the Angels suddenly think that they can’t trust us because of one daft mistake.” He exhaled the smoke through his words and leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the corner of the cardboard packet.

“Well, I think we need to let Crowley know that it’s unacceptable to keep on getting mixed up in shit that has nothing to do with him.” Rufus Turner, the Road Captain answered.

“Retaliation.” Dean said and it wasn’t a question.

“Well, why the fuck not?” Garth Fitzgerald, the Treasurer and final Officer of the Leviathans MC asked.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “And how do we do that?”

“He’s got a shipment of smack going to Topeka tomorrow. It’s gonna have to go through Lawrence. We can intercept.” Benny suggested, looking to Dean.

“Alright, we’ll take a vote.”

“Yea.” Benny said. “And I’ll do it.”

They went round the table until they got back to Dean, all yeas so far. The vote had to be unanimous for it to pass. They were all equally as important in the decision process and Dean didn’t want anybody doing anything that they weren’t 100% happy with or committed to. That was how mistakes got made and people got hurt.

“Yea.” Dean agreed and stubbed his cigarette out in the ash tray. “Decision made. So who wants to do it with Benny? I’d feel happier if at least another officer, preferably two were with him. Grab five or six of the guys who want in on this as well.”

Sam, Rufus and Bobby raised their hands.

“You’re not going anywhere Bobby. Chill out for a few days. Spend some time with Ellen. Maybe if you get laid, you might cheer the fuck up.” Dean pushed himself away from the table and stood up. Everyone else began to follow suit.

“You know,” Bobby said, pointing a finger at Dean. “I’m beginning to regret putting you in charge, boy.”

Dean chuckled. “You say that every day, old man.”

 

***

 

 

Harvelle’s Roadhouse was totally packed out. Castiel figured it would be, what with it being a Friday, but he had no idea that pretty much the entire underbelly of Kansas would be there. There was no doubt in his (or anybody else’s) mind that he wasn’t the usual kind of patron; a librarian from Colorado who enjoyed a good book in front of the fire. ‘The kind to die surrounded by cats,’ his brother had helpfully informed him more than once.

The same brother was currently ‘otherwise occupied’ with a busty blonde woman who had more holes in her face than a watering can and more ink than a newspaper, in one of the corner booths. When Castiel glanced over, Gabriel caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up. Castiel rolled his eyes.

The place itself was a decent size, split level with pool tables on the lower floor and another smaller bar near the back. The floors were sticky and the mucky brown paint was peeling off the walls, but Castiel didn’t hate it like he usually did with these types of dives. The atmosphere was electric and there’s a sense of camaraderie that he’d not found anywhere else.

It reminded him a bit of Bernie’s back in Denver;  A place that the well-meaning, but infuriating Gabriel had dragged him to repeatedly to ‘get some’ after his break-up with Balthazar.  Unfortunately, Castiel continued to let Gabe down by failing to pick up some random stranger, not through lack of offers from men and women alike, but mainly because he just wasn’t interested. He and Balthazar had been together for a good number of years and it still felt like a betrayal to so much as look at another person in that way, let alone anything else.

He’d pointed this out to Gabriel on one occasion when he was being forcibly dressed by the shorter, but surprisingly powerful man. His response was always the same. “Well, he didn’t seem to give much of a shit about betraying you whilst he was off shagging anything with a pulse!”

Castiel sighed heavily. _Maybe I am destined for cat lady fate._

As his eyes travelled back towards his half drained beer bottle, something caught his eye. Well, _someone._

_Dean Winchester._

Dean Winchester was bad news. Castiel knew this now because after the ‘incident’ he had waited until Gabe had gone to bed that night (No _way_ was he sharing anything about the encounter with his brother), and sat down at his computer, eating cereal from the box –  he’d used up all the milk on coffees already – and began to research further into Dean Winchester. He told himself that it was healthy to be curious about any potential trouble in the town he was now calling home; it was nothing at all to do with the apparent handsomeness of said badass.

It turned out that Dean and his younger brother, Sam, were the President and Vice President respectively, of the mother chapter of Leviathans MC – a one percenter Motorcycle club – titles that they’d had for around three years now.

Castiel had been up until the early hours of the morning, researching both the Winchesters and their Motorcycle Club, finding out what kind of stuff they’d been up to to earn their one percenter status.

Both boys had been in and out of Juvenile Detention Centres and then prison for various drugs, arson and assault charges, but nothing longer than Dean’s four years for assault with a deadly weapon. That had been when he was 20. He was 29 now.

Castiel figured that if he were a normal person, he would have run a fucking mile at learning all of this information. However, rather than putting Castiel off, if anything it had just fanned the flames of his interest until he was standing in a bar that he clearly had no business being in pining after a man who probably wasn’t even gay.

_Not that I had anything else better to do on a Friday night, except feed my none-existent cats, right?_

He watched as Dean leaned in to a petite blonde girl who was pulling on the lapels of his leather jacket and for one awful, heart-stopping moment Castiel thought they were going to kiss, but instead she yanked his head to the side at the last minute and began talking close to his ear.  Dean smirked, nodded and then she was making her way through the crowd, away from him.

Castiel almost choked on his beer when Dean’s eyes clicked onto his; the cool liquid suddenly scorching hot when it hit the back of his throat causing him to wince slightly. Dean’s gaze didn’t leave him for a good few seconds, almost checking to see if he was okay and then it was gone. Castiel found that _he_ physically couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen someone so handsome, so _attractive_ in his whole damn life. The striking eyes that he’d been dreaming about for the last four days were framed by golden eyelashes that fanned onto his cheekbones when he tilted his head back and closed his eyes as he took a swig from his beer.

Castiel stood stock still, absolutely mesmerised by the pull of the man’s beautiful plump lips on the bottle, the way his Adam ’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Castiel himself swallowed thickly, still feeling a slight stick in his throat from where he had choked or was it something else now?

 “Cassie!” He heard a shrill shriek right next to his own ear and visibly flinched, taking his focus away from Dean. Gabriel flashed him his patented cat-that-got-the-cream grin. “You checking out the talent?”

“Don’t call me that.” Castiel muttered petulantly.

Gabriel laughed. “Come on Cassie, I’m going back to Denver on Sunday, I need to get you laid before I go. Then I can go back and gloat to Balthazar about how all the boys here are falling over you.”

Castiel turned to glare at him sharply. “Don’t you dare!” He hissed. “I mean it Gabriel!”

Gabriel held up his hands in mock surrender, but that shit-eating grin was still on his face.

“I need a smoke.” And with that he was pushing his way to the exit, not caring of the toes he was treading on or arms he was nudging.

He breathed in the crisp night air and stood for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a empty packet of cigarettes.

_Fucking Damn it._

Of course Gabriel just had to mention Balthazar. Why the Hell wouldn’t he? It’s not like Castiel had spent thousands of dollars on moving just to get away from the man because they were such good friends or anything. _Cheating fucking bastard._

He was pacing the bar’s parking lot now. “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his dark hair in frustration, trying to decide whether it was worth the walk to a store. It was probably at least a mile away.

“Something I can help with?”

Castiel span on his heel, his heart leaping into his chest. He hadn’t realised anyone else was outside. He sucked in a deep breath as the other man pushed himself away from the brick wall that he’d been casually leaning against like James fucking Dean.

Dean’s smile was wide and almost predatory and Castiel swallowed hard, unsure that he was only _acting_ the part of innocent twink anymore. _Of course_ it had been Gabe’s idea to dress Castiel up in ridiculously tight jeans, long sleeved Henley and biker boots, telling him that he would be the prettiest man there. Ironic really, since Castiel was damn sure that Dean was prettier than most women he’d met and their sister Anna was considered a knockout, which was something Castiel didn’t examine too closely for two obvious reasons.

“N..no.” Castiel stuttered. _Smooth._

“Aren’t you a bit old to be playing twinks and robbers?”

Castiel could feel his lips twitch into a smile, despite himself.

“And built.” Dean added, barely disguising the appreciation in his voice.

Castiel finally found his voice. _And balls._ He shrugged in an act of fake nonchalance. “What can I say? I like ‘em bad and if this-“ He gestured to his too-tight shirt “-gets me a badass, It’s a sacrifice I’ll willingly make.”

Dean paused for a moment as if considering Castiel’s answer. He nodded almost imperceptibly.  “It’s marginally preferable to the Superman pyjamas.”

“Only marginally?”

“You like ‘em bad, I like ‘em nerdy.” Dean’s voice was amused, edging on teasing. “You looking for any ‘badass’ in particular?”

“Well, there was this one guy I’d heard about…” _Two can play at the coy game Winchester._

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Castiel licked his lips, watching Dean to gauge his reaction.

Dean pulled his bottom lip between his teeth salaciously and started moving slowly towards Castiel. “Tell me,”

Castiel hummed, revelling in his victory. “He’s tall…”

Dean reached him and twisted his fingers into the belt loops of Castiel’s jeans, and hauled the smaller man to him in one swift, clearly practiced move. Castiel could detect the same liquor, oil and leather scent of the God standing _oh so fucking close_ to him and it was so intoxicating that Castiel, a damn grown man, not a 13-year old girl, almost swooned.

Dean released the belt and ran his hands up Castiel’s arms, rucking up the fabric of his shirt under his fingers. “And?”

Castiel opened his eyes, not even realising that he had closed them. _Fuck, need to get a grip._

“Well…” Castiel murmured in what he hoped was his seductive voice, must be, cause Dean was looking at him like a hungry man eyeing a steak.

“…he’s got these unreal green eyes…”

Dean fluttered his eyelashes in a parody of the way Castiel had seen Anna do when she was flirting with a man and he couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to split his face.

“Go on?” Dean prompted, eyes not leaving Castiel.

“These beautiful cocksucking lips…” As soon as he said the words, Castiel wanted to take them back. _Stupid stupid!_ He was aware that whilst Dean was standing in front of him, threatening to kiss him, he may not like to be reminded that he _clearly_ liked dudes (if the hardness in his jeans was any indication). He’d known a few closet cases in his time and it never ended well.

Castiel needn’t have worried. Dean pursed his lips playfully at him and Castiel’s smile returned with a vengeance.

_Holy fuck, he’s adorable._

Castiel leaned in closer to Dean, so that their faces were centimetres apart. He brushed their lips together, eyes darting from Dean’s eyes, to his mouth and then back again.

“Know anybody like that?”

Dean paused as if thinking carefully.

Castiel took advantage to reach out and slide his hand round the back of the Dean’s head, relishing the feeling of his fingers in the short hair. He gently tugged Dean’s face down to his to press their lips together, enjoying the gasp of surprise from Dean and Castiel took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongues sliding, teeth nipping.

Dean moved his hands from where they’d stilled on Castiel’s shoulders back onto his hips again and pulled him flush against his hard body. He was stroking small circles on Castiel’s hip bones with his thumbs through his shirt and Castiel groaned into the kiss, about to throw the last of his sense away and ride Dean into the gravel when the back door of Harvelle’s was flung open, causing Dean to break away.

Castiel looked past Dean who had turned around. There was a dark-haired man crawling on his hands and knees, spitting blood into the gravel whilst another bigger man was slowly stalking behind him, murder in his eyes.

“Later Twinkie,” Dean winked and then he was gone, jogging over to the pair.

Castiel watched as Dean put his hand on the guy’s big chest. “C’mon Benny, not worth it.”

Benny struggled with Dean fleetingly, trying to get past the slightly smaller man, shouting obscenities at the guy on the ground, but when Dean reached behind himself, under his leather jacket and yanked out a revolver of some sort, Benny stopped. Castiel froze. This was not a good situation to be in.

_Under-fucking-statement._

“Want me to fucking shoot him man? ‘Cause I’m tired, it’s been a long ass day and if me shooting the bastard will get you to calm the fuck down, I’ll do it.”

The guy behind them on the ground let out a pitiful whine.

“Shut the fuck up Tom, because you know I will this time.” Dean said evenly, not taking his eyes off Benny who was panting, but seemingly calmer.

“Go back inside.” Dean ordered Benny. “And make sure you get Ellen or Jo to turn up the music. Don’t want them to hear the gunshot and kick my ass for killing someone on the premises again.”

_Again? Oh God._

Benny paused for an instant before doing as he was told, slamming the door behind him.

There was a small part of Castiel that was totally turned on by the amount of power that Dean clearly had over people. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he liked bad boys, but at that moment in time he was seriously reconsidering the mini-obsession that had resulted in him being put in this situation. Dean took the whole ‘bad boy’ thing to another level. A level that should have scared Castiel, more than intrigued him, but even now, he couldn’t bring himself to move, despite his very serious concerns about being a witness to a murder. He shook his head, mentally chastising himself. _  
_

Dean turned to face the man - Tom - and nudged him with his foot until he rolled onto his back, looking up at Dean like he was both the Messiah and the Grim Reaper and Castiel was beginning to know how the poor guy felt.

Castiel’s breath hitched when Dean tossed him a crooked smile before he dropped down on his haunches in front of Tom. Dean scratched his temple with the muzzle of his gun.

“Thomas,” He sighed as if he’d had this conversation one too many times.

“Look, D-“

Dean cut him off as he pulled back the hammer on the revolver. Castiel flinched at the sound and finally the panic began to set in as the gravity of the situation buried itself in his slightly hazy brain.

_Oh Fuck. Should have stayed in Denver. Holy shit._

“How many fucking times, man?” Dean sounded frustrated, his voice raised. “How many times are you gonna get involved in our shit? How many times am I gonna let you get away just so that you can come back and try infect us some other way?”

Castiel was struggling not to faint; his brain felt fuzzy and he was still rooted to the spot. He had no idea why in the Hell he hadn’t bolted, but he suspected that if he tried now, he would either puke or fall flat on his face.

Castiel didn’t hear Tom’s answer, but it was fairly safe to say that Dean wasn’t happy with whatever it was because he rose to his feet again and aimed the pistol squarely at Tom’s chest.

 _Oh my fuck…He’s not, surely, he’s not, not in front of witnesses. Who’ll feed the cats if he kills me too? Gabriel couldn’t feed a potato and Anna lives too far away…_ Castiel could feel the pull of unconsciousness lulling him in.

At the last second, Dean switched his aim to Tom’s right kneecap and pulled the trigger.

Castiel lost his inner battle and passed out.

 

***

 

                “Well, shit.” Dean stuffed his revolver back underneath the waistband of his jeans as he stepped over the still moaning Tom to get to the unconscious blue-eyed twink. He yanked his phone out of his pocket, found Benny’s number and called.

“I need you outside.”

He hung up and crouched down next the guy’s crumpled form. Seconds later, Benny was coming back out of the bar and looking between, Tom, Dean and blue-eyes, eyebrow cocked. “What happened brother?”

Dean pressed two fingers to the pulse point on blue-eyes’ neck just to make sure he had actually fainted and not had a heart attack or something.

“I shot our friend Tom in the knee. This guy fainted.” Dean replied gruffly, sliding one arm around the guy’s back and the other underneath the back of his knees. He mentally and physically braced himself and pushed himself to his feet, holding the guy in his arms, carrying him honeymoon style.

When he turned around, Benny was leaning over Tom. He looked up at Dean, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

“What do you want me to do with him?”

 “Better drop him off at the hospital.” Dean mumbled.

 “You’re too soft, Prez.”

Dean smiled wryly at Benny as he shouldered open the door. “I’m all heart.”

“Cassy?” The high pitched voice that cut straight through the ridiculously loud music inside Harvelle’s made Dean wince and then there was a caramel-haired shortass barging his way past patrons, spilt beers and angry patrons in his wake.

“What the Hell happened?” The man asked, looking at ‘Cassy’, his brown eyes wide and filled with concern.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, frantically trying to think of some plausible excuse as to why he was holding this guy’s cousin, brother, friend, _boyfriend?_ totally unconscious in his arms. “I went outside to make a phonecall and I just saw this guy drop like a stone. Thought I’d better bring him inside in case he was with someone.” _Smooth Winchester._

The man stared at Dean as if he was trying to figure him out. Like a particularly hard puzzle or something. It made Dean feel slightly uncomfortable and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Shit, sorry!” The man exclaimed as if he’d suddenly remembered himself. “Just put him down on the table there.” He gestured to an empty booth towards the back of the bar and Dean followed as he pushed his way through the crowd, people parting like the red sea for him. The music lowered considerably to a volume where he could actually hear himself think and he nodded a thanks at Ash when he saw him standing by the jukebox.

He laid Cassy out on the table, being mindful of his head and stepped back, frowning. His memory hadn’t been wrong about the guy being handsome; even the Superman pyjamas and stained hoody couldn’t have hidden that, but the tight jeans and biker boots he was wearing now were definitely a better fit for him. His black hair that had been closer to bedhead the other morning, was now artfully dishevelled, probably thanks in part to Dean and the _hot as fuck_ kiss they’d shared earlier.

He backed away slowly and it was only then that he noticed the shortass was eyeing him again, regarding him carefully. He turned his attention back to Cassy. Dean was just about to leave and down about 20 shots of whisky when the man spoke again.

“He’s a handsome fucker, ain’t he? Always been the favourite brother.”

 _Brother._ Internally, Dean breathed a sigh of relief, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He wouldn’t kick the guy out of bed or anything, but why did he care if he was single? It didn’t usually stop him.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

The man turned to Dean again and stuck his hand out. “Gabriel. And the unconscious guy is Castiel.”

Dean shook Gabriel’s hand. “Unusual names.”

Gabriel smirked. “Yeah, our parents were pretty religious.”

“I’m Dean.”

“Well, thanks for helping my brother, Dean. I’m sure he’ll be _extremely_ thankful to you when he comes round.”

 

***

 

“Cassy?”

Castiel winced as something cold  and wet hit his face.

“The fuck?” He spluttered, sitting up, almost smacking his head against Gabriel’s in the process.

“Ah, thanks for re-joining us in the land of the living, little brother.”

Castiel groaned. _Seriously, the fuck_? Then he remembered… _Dean._ His eyes widened and he risked a quick glance around. He was on the table of one of the booths at Harvelle’s. _Ughhh_.

“What happened?” He mumbled, figuring that it was in his, Dean’s and Tom’s best interests to keep quiet on what they’d all been involved in outside.

“Well, you went out for a smoke and when you came back in, you were in the arms of a rather strapping biker dude. That guy.” He pointed towards the bar and Castiel followed his line of vision. _Dean._ Of course. Castiel sighed and slid off the table awkwardly, catching himself before the tiny stumble became too embarrassing. His mind was still a little out-of-focus.

“He said that he went out to take a phone call and when he turned around you were in a crumpled heap on the floor.”

Castiel snorted.

“Something to share there, Cassy?” Gabriel was looking at him sternly, one eyebrow raised in a question.

“Nope.” Castiel threw Gabriel a sarcastic smile. “Let’s get smashed.”

Gabriel gave him a look that said _I know you’re bullshitting me, but I can’t be assed futzing around with you right now._

Six or seven…(or eight, but who’s counting?) shots down and Castiel was beginning to understand people who did this whole getting drunk thing on a regular basis. He felt _fantastic._ No Balthazar, No Dean, No new job-on-Monday jitters, just pure unadulterated oblivion.

Bliss.

And then he felt an elbow against his. He managed to focus his blurry vision enough to work out that it was Dean. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen.

“Hey,” Dean said happily, plonking two glasses and a bottle of JD in between them.

“Hi,” Castiel mumbled sourly and then there was a quarter full glass under his nose.

“You’re welcome.” Dean smirked as he lifted his glass to his lips.

“Eh?”

“Eloquent.”

Castiel scoffed. _What the fuck is going on?_ “Fine.” He was trying his best to muster up some articulacy, but apparently he’d traded brains with a particularly dim-witted cushion. “I’m afraid you’ll have to elaborate.”

Dean chuckled as he waved his hand dismissively. “Never mind. Wanna come to a party? Your brother says that you need to get drunk and LMC parties are notorious for people having a crazy time.”

Castiel sipped at his whisky and gave the idea some serious consideration. On one hand, Dean was some kind of psychopath, but on the other, he was _gorgeous_ and he hadn’t had a good fuck in ages, and… and _Dean was gorgeous_.

Castiel shrugged, “Sure.”


	3. Chapter Two - All Men Play On Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by Manowar.

Castiel wasn’t quite sure what had happened. The last few bits of coherence that he could remember was Dean kissing him in the parking lot, Dean shooting some guys kneecaps off, then Gabriel in the bar slinging shots down his neck like nothing else mattered. And as far as Castiel was concerned in his drunken state, that sentiment was pretty true. He just wished he knew where the Hell he was.

He forced himself to open his eyes, which was when he realised that he was pretty much horizontal, spread across something that could potentially be a chair. The music was practically deafening and Castiel could just about make out some lyrics over the heavy drums and bass.

_I’m an American Badass,_

_Watch me kick,_

_You can roll with rock,_

_Or you can suck my dick._

He wished he hadn’t.

There were scantily clad women draped over men wearing what Castiel recognised to be the LMC patch Sam and Dean were wearing the first time he met them. Well. The only time he’d met Sam _and just where the Hell is Dean?_

Castiel estimated that there were at least twenty bikers throughout the large room and probably twice as many women. But he couldn’t see his brother or Dean anywhere. _Damn it._ He groaned and tried to sit up, but his body just would not cooperate and so he slid his hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out his phone, staring blearily at the screen until he could focus enough. He had a text from Gabriel. It took three attempts before he managed to unlock the touchscreen to read the message.

**_Gabriel: How goes the covert ops? Managed to get that stick up your ass replaced with something Dean shaped? I’m back at yours, but Dean-o assured me he would take good care of you. *wink wink* Call me in the morning, k?_ **

**_Received: Yesterday, 23:37_ **

Castiel would’ve rolled his eyes, but the room was already spinning enough without making it any worse. There would be no point in attempting to text his brother back, as he was struggling to even see straight, so he tucked his phone back into his pocket and decided on a slower, more determined effort to sit up this time. His stomach muscles were just starting to ache with the struggle of going slow when he finally shifted enough to swing his feet back over the arm of the chair and safely onto the floor. He threw his head between his legs and sucked in lungfuls of air.

The music was different now, the beat changing slightly, but it was still pretty heavy. It wasn’t really Castiel’s kind of thing, but the new song was preferable to the last one.

_Well it’s midnight, damn right, we’re wound up too tight._

_I’ve got a fist full of whiskey, the bottle just bit me._

_That shit makes me batshit crazy,_

_We’ve got no fear, no doubt, all in, balls out!_

The dizziness was slowly subsiding, but the throbbing at the back of his head felt as if someone was pounding on his skull with increasing ferocity. And then he could feel the warmth of a hand pressing on the nape of his neck, fingers tracing his clammy skin lightly and instantly his headache was beginning to lessen.

“De-“ He started quietly, then realised. Dean hadn’t told him his name at any point, and whilst Castiel was happy to come across as a twink, there was no way he wanted to come across as an _obsessed twink_ , so in that moment he was thankful for the stupidly loud music that had no doubt covered his attempt to speak.

If he’d been sober he probably would have been more concerned about the fact that Dean had shot someone in front of him, rather than coming across as some kind of groupie, but then again, that was kind of the reason for him getting drunk in the first place.

He took another deep breath before lifting his head which felt like a bag of wet cement; an unusual, but not ridiculously unpleasant sensation. It’s not like he hadn’t ever been drunk before, because there was that one time in college, but he felt totally different. He felt thoroughly out of control of his actions and for one panic-stricken moment he wondered if Dean had drugged him. _Stupid stupid!!_ He’d been so off his guard since he’d seen Dean, virtually anything was possible. He wanted to leave, wanted to panic, wanted to kiss Dean again.

  _Just as soon as I can see straight._

His head lolled against the back of the chair and he looked up at Dean with glassy eyes. Dean moved his hand to absently pet through Castiel’s hair whilst he talked to the same blonde woman from the bar.

He had a beer bottle in his other hand and Dean was rubbing at the condensation with his thumb and Castiel wanted nothing more than that thumb rubbing circles on his narrow hipbones, like he’d done in the parking lot, as Dean leaned forward to kiss him again, brushing their lips together…

“Hey Twinkie,” Dean was looking down at him, seemingly searching for something and Castiel suddenly understood the expression ‘Deer caught in headlights’. He noted absently, that the blonde had disappeared.

Dean didn’t seem disconcerted by Castiel’s lack of response, he just dropped down like he did in the lot so that all Castiel would have to do to kiss those lush lips was turn his head to the right slightly.

“How are you doing?” Dean asked, taking a swig from his beer and Castiel was reminded of when he first saw him in the bar. _Feels like a fucking lifetime ago._

“’m ‘kay…” Castiel croaked and Dean smiled sympathetically, tipping the bottle up against Castiel’s lips, letting some of the ice cool liquid seep across his tongue and down his throat. It felt fucking perfect. Castiel ran his tongue across his slightly chapped lips and Dean tracked the movement hungrily.

“Thanks,” Castiel murmured, not taking his eyes off Deans.

Dean smiled. Up close like this, Castiel could count individual freckles across the bridge of his nose. He tried, got to 17 before Dean  spoke again.

“Thought you’d be able to handle your liquor twinkie.” He teased, green eyes sparking with mirth.

Were he in a more sober state of mind, Castiel would have been able to come up with a witty rejoinder. However, he was absolutely wasted and so therefore the response he gave Dean was a “Nuugh.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. The sound was fucking beautiful and Castiel needed to hear it again before he left. He’d record it and have it as his ringtone or something, a constant reminder of the amazing man.

_Who shot someone’s kneecaps off earlier this evening._

_Eh, details._

“If you need to go to bed, you can have mine,” Dean lips brushed against Castiel’s ear and his whole body shivered with pleasure.

Castiel hesitated; was he really going to do this? He risked a glance at Dean’s face. _Fuck yes._

“Only if you join me.”

Dean arched a brow sceptically and opened his mouth as if to say something, but a loud crash from outside tore his attention away.

Castiel sighed heavily as Dean gave him an apologetic look and rushed away towards the origin of the ruckus. He could feel his eyes beginning to droop and within a few minutes he was pulled under again.

***

 

_Godfuckingdammit._

Whoever was responsible for the fight breaking out in the back yard was going to get their ass kicked. He had been _so close_ to throwing Castiel over his shoulder, running to his bedroom and fucking the gorgeous man into his mattress. Luck just wasn’t on his damn side, but then again, when was it ever?

When he stepped out of the patio doors, one of which was hanging off its hinges, he was greeted with the sight of two LMC members grappling on the lawn, shouting expletives at each other whilst a small group of guys were watching, beers in hand. Generally, club rule was that any fight would be fought without any other member interaction, but Dean was tired, horny and pissed off.

“The fuck is going on here?” He growled, downing the remainder of his beer and throwing the bottle off to his left somewhere.

 “Uhh, Andy hit on Chuck’s Old Lady.” One of the Prospects _(Adam?)_ informed him.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Fuck’s sake._

The woman in question, Becky, was standing by the barbeque watching.

Chuck was quick, but not quick enough and the bearded man soon found himself on his back with Andy leaning over him, grinning.

“Enough!” Dean shouted, startling Becky and a few of the men watching who hadn’t seen him approach. He strode over to Andy and Chuck who had frozen. “If you two assholes have stopped me from getting laid tonight, there will be cruel and unusual punishments in your immediate futures.”

Some of the guys starting chuckling and Dean could feel a smile breaking on his face despite his best efforts. “You’re all a bunch of bastards.” He muttered and stomped back into the house.

By the time he got back over to Cas, he was already passed out again.

“Fuck.”

 

***

 

The next time he woke up, it was in a comfy bed and he had never been more thankful for the invention of pillows in his life. He snuggled further down breathing in the familiar scent. _Dean._

_Dean… DEAN._

Castiel froze and forced his eyes open, expecting to see a naked body next to him, but a cursory glance told him that Dean was nowhere in the room. Castiel was relieved, but also strangely disappointed. He twisted, so that he was facing away from the window and something silver on the nightstand caught his eye.

His phone.

Underneath it, there was a piece of paper with loopy black writing.

**_Morning Cas,_ **

**_Sorry about last night. You’d passed out again by the time I got back to you. I brought you up here and undressed you (no funny business, Scout’s honour!)_ **

**_Anyway, I’m in a meeting until 11 and then I can take you home if you want._ **

**_-D_ **

**_P.S. I just realised that you may not know my name; it’s Dean._ **

 

Castiel grimaced when he remembered the events from the previous night. Dean hadn’t even mentioned the shooting-Tom thing.

_Maybe he hasn’t written it down so that there’ll be no evidence when he kills me._

Well that was a cheery thought.

The clock on the nightstand showed the time to be 10:14 and Castiel sucked in a deep breath.  He desperately needed to pee, but he had no idea where anything was, who was still in the house, and to top it all off, he was hungover and had morning wood.

Castiel sighed loudly and threw the covers off himself, semi-pleased to discover his clothes from the previous night on a chair in the corner of the reasonably sized room, because it meant that he could be on his way quicker. The walls were painted in a fairly non-descript cream colour, but the furniture was all a dark wood. It was pretty tasteful for a Motorcycle hellion and Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if a woman had a hand in the design. Castiel stepped into his jeans and snapped the button. His boots were under the chair and he pulled them on without bothering to do up the laces.

He grabbed his shirt and was just about to pull it on when he heard a soft knock on the door. _So close!_

“Castiel?” A soft voice came through the door. A female voice.

“Coming!” He called back, tugging the door open as he was desperately yanking his shirt over his head.

It was the same blond girl again. She let out a low appreciative whistle as she raked her gaze over Castiel before his shirt covered his torso.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she smirked. “I totally get it.”

Castiel stared, confused, hoping that she’d elaborate, but instead she followed with. “I like your tattoo. You should get Dean to show you his sometime.”

He blinked slowly, his brain desperately trying to keep up with the thread of the so far one-sided conversation.

The girl laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m Jo. I’m a friend of the family. My mom is Bobby’s ol’ Lady and the owner of Harvelle’s.”

_Ol’ Lady?_

Instead, Castiel said, “Bobby?”

Jo nodded and clapped her hands together, not bothering to explain. “The bathroom is the next door down. Usually you’d be able to access it from this bedroom, but when the guys are round, Dean locks this door and the one to the bathroom to stop people from…. Well, y’know.” She muttered, a small blush creeping up her cheeks.

Castiel wasn't sure that he did know, but he nodded slowly.

“When you’re done, if you come downstairs I’ll make you some breakfast if you want?”

Castiel nodded again and flashed a genuine, thankful smile and then Jo was gone, wandering off down the corridor, leaving a very perplexed Castiel in her wake.

 

***

 

“So, first order of business,” Dean started, lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag. “The cruel and unusual punishments for Andy and Chuck.”

Sam snickered. “So you struck out last night then?”

Dean glared at his younger brother, but Sam just flashed him an innocent smile. Dean had been a perfect gentleman as far as Castiel was concerned. Not that he wasn’t usually when it came to men or women, but with Cas he’d even slept in one of the guest rooms, so as to be ultra-chivalrous. Though it was still a mystery to him why he was going to all this extra effort; inviting Cas to the party, taking care of him, and he was going to drive him home after the meeting like they were a couple from the fucking 50s or something. It wasn’t his usual MO; he was more the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.

It’s not like he was freaking out because it was a dude either. He’d had plenty of experience with both sexes and his sexuality was as malleable as Castiel himself no doubt was.

God, he’d love to find that out for definite.

_Fucking Chuck and Andy._

“If anyone thinks of a good approach for teaching them the error of their ways, let me know,” He tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette into the ashtray. “So where do we stand with the Angels after our little interference with Crowley’s H?”

“Well, I spoke with them yesterday,” Bobby said, pushing a piece of paper across the table at Dean. “They want us to do a little protection for them today.”

Dean skimmed the paperwork. Mainly electronics like consoles and iPods. The club would get $10,000 for escorting the HGV 34 miles to Leavenworth. He nodded, sliding the paper back to Bobby. “The shipment is leaving at six tonight outside of Kansas City. Who’s free?”

Everyone lifted their hand and Dean smirked. “Well, maybe we should all go; it’s been a while since we’ve had a good road trip.”

 

***

 

Jo’s chatter, mindless though it may be, was definitely going some way to put Castiel at ease. So far, he hadn’t seen anybody else, but he could hear male voices that he didn’t recognise coming from the adjoining room, which he vaguely remembered as the living room.

Where he’d passed out.

Castiel ran a hand through his still damp hair, causing it to spike and Jo to giggle. He’d opted for a quick shower, just enough to make him feel less scummy, even though he had to put the same dirty clothes back on. There would be plenty of time back at the house for a proper shower. He could wash this entire situation off him and get back to his normal, boring, dying-with-cats life.

_You need to fuck him first. And make him laugh again for your ringtone._

Holy shit, his brain was a fucking traitor.

Jo slid a plate of fried eggs on toast across the smooth granite counter and without hesitation Castiel tucked in. 

 _Hot damn_ , the eggs were wonderful. He moaned around his first mouthful and Jo’s entire face lit up.

“You like them?”

Castiel nodded enthusiastically. Or as enthusiastically as he could in his current hungover state.

She leaned across the counter, showing ample cleavage. “I like you, Castiel.”

He swallowed. “You seem nice too, Jo.” He offered, unsure what to say or what she wanted, but she grinned and pushed away to busy herself with something else in the kitchen.

A few moments after he’d finished his last mouthful, Castiel heard more voices join the ones in the front room and he straightened, hoping that Dean was amongst them.

Jo noticed his suddenly tense demeanour. She leaned back across to him. “I’m not gonna pretend he’s a good guy in the sense of a law-abiding citizen or any shit like that, but he looks after his family and his own.”

Castiel nodded, but inwardly sighed. Dean Winchester was something else.  

“Cas!” Dean’s voice was entirely too happy and Castiel felt his throat get tight at the sight and sound of _Dean. Handsome, vibrant Dean. Psychopathic, devious Dean._

“Hello Dean,” He said cooly, but his small smile belied his tone and Dean spotted it instantly.

“Sleep well?” Dean inquired innocently as he grabbed a set of keys from a hook above Jo’s head.

“Like the dead. But I suspect that was because it felt like I was. I still feel like I’ve crawled out of my own grave this morning.”

Dean chuckled lowly, swinging the keyring around his forefinger. “Yeah man, you were pretty out of it last night.”

Castiel nodded slowly and slipped off the stool.

“So.” Dean started, glancing at Jo and then back at Castiel. “You get to choose the method of transport. Car or bike?”

Despite the extremely tempting thought of being that close to Dean on the back of a bike, Castiel knew that he might not survive the sexual tension, “Car,” He said, “I’m not sure I would be much good on a bike after last night.”

Dean grinned and then motioned for Cas to follow him. “Impala it is then.”

 ***

Dean’s car was beautiful and Castiel couldn’t even care less about cars, but Dean’s eyes lit up when he looked at it ( _her_ ). How could he not like this one when it caused such a wonderful reaction in a gorgeous man?

“Where am I taking you Cas?” He flashed a salacious grin at Castiel as he glanced across from the driver’s seat. Gabriel was particularly fond of euphemisms and innuendos and on him it was irritating to the point of madness, but on Dean… On Dean it was endearing.

_Oh, I am so screwed._

“Well if you’re offering…”

Dean flashed a smirk in Castiel's direction as he reversed out of the over-sized driveway. “You have no idea how much I would love to, but I have so much work to do today.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if it was the slight sting of rejection or the fact that he felt like he was gonna explode from not talking about Dean shooting a guy’s _Goddamn kneecaps off_ , or the tiredness from moving, but he suddenly snapped.

“More dead bodies to bury?” He _knew_ he was poking the bear, but he was just so pissed off and hungover and _horny_ that he wasn’t sure he cared.

Dean chuckled, turning the car right at the junction. “You want to help Cas?”

Castiel blanched. He hadn’t expected Dean to have such a damned cavalier attitude about the whole thing. “ _No_ ,” He replied, scandalized.

Dean laughed harder. “Corpse day is Wednesday, so you just missed out. Always next week though, eh?” Dean took a hand off the wheel to reach across the console and squeeze Castiel’s knee.

Castiel scowled. “You’re unbelievable.” He turned his head away from Dean and stared out the window, keeping an eye out for any landmarks that he recognised.

The silence stretched on inside the car for a few moments before he heard Dean sigh.

“Look Cas,” He started, sounding a bit more serious. “I’m sorry you saw what you saw.”

When Castiel made no attempt to move, Dean carried on. “I don’t know how much you know about me, but the only thing that I care about you knowing is that I’ve never done anything that I didn’t have to do, to protect my friends and family.”

Castiel turned back to face Dean. “It’s a left at the store.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Have you really killed someone?” Castiel asked suddenly, not sure if he wanted the answer.

 “Do you want the honest answer to that?”

 “Never mind.”

 “No innocents.” Dean said solemnly, staring straight out at the road ahead.

Castiel suddenly felt guilty. He was the one who’d gatecrashed Dean’s world, with his ludicrous groupie notions about scoring a bad boy who was just bad enough for it to be a turn on. Dean hadn’t asked for any of Castiel’s bullshit, but here he was driving him home after letting him sleep in his bed, looking after him and making sure he was okay when he’d chosen to drink too much.

He was being ridiculous.

“I believe you,” He replied softly.

Dean exhaled heavily. “Thank you.”

Castiel managed a small smile. “It’s the fifth house on the left.”

Dean pulled up outside his house and cut the engine.

He twisted in his seat, so that he could see Castiel properly. Castiel folded his hands in his lap. This was the part where Dean told him to fuck off for good and he had some seriously conflicting opinions on how he would feel about that.

Dean shifted, moving slightly closer. On instinct, Castiel did too.

“Look, Cas I-“

It was too late by the time Castiel caught sight of his brother, standing at the front bumper of Dean's car, grinning from ear to ear like a maniac.

“Sha-la la la la la my oh my, looks like the boy’s too shy, ain’t gonna kiss the girl!”

Whoever had told Gabriel in High School that he could sing was not only misguided, they were apparently deaf.

Dean bit his lip as he flopped back into his seat, obviously fighting the urge to laugh.

Castiel let out a huff of annoyance, but he was smiling too.

Dean looked over at him, giving in to his laughter. “Your brother man, seriously.”


	4. Chapter Three - Drunk Sincerity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a song by Bad Religion.

As soon as Castiel was inside, Gabriel pounced.

“So… when are you gonna see him again?” 

Castiel massaged his temples, trying to pull his wits together; the last 14 hours had been rather bizarre to say the least. He trudged into his front room and threw himself down onto the sofa that he and Balthazar had bought together three years ago before they went to Paris for their anniversary. He hated the fucking thing, the pattern was ugly.

“Gabe, there’s a packet of smokes on top of the fridge, can you grab them for me please, I’m not feeling too great.”

He heard, rather than saw Gabriel leave, passively agressively tutting as he went, but clearly too worried about his brother to give him the usual lecture.

Castiel let his head fall against the back of the couch and he sighed loudly. What the fuck was he doing? He'd always prided himself on the ability to make  _sensible_ decisions in love, but here he was; already pining after someone who not only operated outside of the law, but was pretty damn proud of it. Though, from what he'd gathered, LMC were regarded as a neccessary evil in Lawrence; keeping the place drug free and holding fundraisers for the community. Castiel couldn't decide if that was Dean bribing the good folk of Lawrence or whether he really did give a crap about the Methodist's church roof. Though after spending time in Dean's company, he was pretty sure which way he was leaning.

Gabriel reappeared with Castiel’s emergency packet of cigarettes, lighter and a cracked cup as a makeshift ashtray.

“Thanks,” Castiel flashed his brother a genuine smile.

“So, what’s wrong bro? I thought you’d be back here this morning all smiles and soreness.”

Castiel rolled his eyes at Gabe’s turn of phrase and lit up.

 “I was too drunk,” Castiel took a long pull off the cigarette, revelling in the dizzy feeling from not having had one in over 12 hours.

“What?” Gabriel spluttered, sitting down on the matching ugly chair diagonally to the left of the couch. “You’re telling me that that sexy ass man in the sleek black sex car didn’t bend you over every surface in his house?”

Castiel watched the cigarette as it burned down.   “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying Gabe. I was off my fucking face. Poor guy had to put me to bed and everything.”

Gabriel looked as mortified as Castiel felt. There was complete silence for a few moments as Gabriel appeared, for the first time in living memory, to be speechless and Castiel enjoyed his cancer stick in peace.

“Are you going to see him again?” Gabriel asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“I doubt it,” Castiel replied, sounding much more uncaring than he felt. “We didn’t even exchange numbers. Dean doesn’t strike me as the sort to be chasing after either gender.”

Gabriel shook his head sadly.

 

***

 

Dean was just about to finish up on the car he was currently under, when he saw feet shuffling around the side of the crappy Ford. He could tell by the slight limp that it was the recently-shot Bobby, so he rolled out from under the car on the creeper.

“Almost time.” Bobby muttered gruffly as Dean pushed himself up, wiping his hands on the rag he’d had tugged down the back of his jeans.

Dean nodded. “Alright. How’s Ellen doing with you coming on this run?”

Bobby shot the younger man a fierce look. “Don’t ask stupid questions, boy.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Have you heard from the others?”

“Yeah, we’re meeting here, so you’d better get yourself cleaned up, get your kutte on and act like the leader you’re supposed to be.” Bobby turned away and wandered back into the office.

Dean dropped the rag on the hood of the car and stretched his arms over his head. He’d been working at Singer’s Salvage & Restorations since he was old enough to hold a spanner and he loved it. All of his summer holidays when he’d been at school were spent restoring the ’67 Chevvy Impala that was now his pride and joy (alongside his Triumph Thunderbird of course)  and they were easily some of the best memories he had. Sam had never really taken to it the way Dean did, instead preferring to read than to do something physical with his hands, but Dean was fine with that; he was a grunt and Sammy was the smart one.

A few of the other guys worked at the salvage yard with him, Bobby obviously and Rufus helped out from time to time. Sam worked at his soon-to-be father-in-law’s motel, doing the accounts and occasionally general maintenance; Benny worked with his wife at their diner in town; Ash worked for Ellen at Harvelle’s and Garth worked at the crematorium, which had come in handy on more than one occasion.

It was a beautiful set-up really; all of the officers of LMC had day jobs where they could suddenly and frequently disappear from if required. It was a lot harder to hold down a steady job when you had to rush off to do illegal shit a couple of times a week.

He heard the familiar rumble of motorcycle engines and followed Bobby into the office to grab his black leather jacket which had the Club patch sewn onto the back.

Bobby was giving him a dirty look.

“What Bobby?” He asked, slightly pissy. Bobby was a cantankerous ass at the best of times, but for the past couple of days he’d been unbearable. He’d been shot before, so Dean figured it wasn’t that and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to go down the road of Bobby’s personal life with his old lady, Ellen.

“You’re a state, ya idjit.”

Dean slid his arms into his jacket, loving the way the cool leather felt against his bare arms.

“No. What’s this really about?”

There was a slight pause before Bobby spoke again. “When are you gonna find yourself a nice woman, Dean? Sam has Amelia-“

Dean raised his hand in a gesture to silence Bobby.

“Are we really discussing this now?” At Bobby’s grunt, he continued. “I am happy as I am, Bobby. I don’t want an old lady or whatever the male equivalent is.”

It was a lie; Dean knew it, Sam knew it and Bobby almost certainly knew it. For a while, there’d been a girl – Lisa, with her dark brown eyes, beautiful face and wonderful personality – who he’d been in love with not long after he’d got out of prison. She had a son, Ben, who was everything Dean could have wished for in a kid; smart, into cars and funny as Hell. They’d dated for around a year before Lisa had decided that she couldn’t handle the life, the Club, _Dean_ anymore. It had hurt like fuck to let them go, but he never blamed her. Couldn’t blame her, because half of the time he wanted out of the life himself; he wanted the normal apple pie life complete with white picket fence and a neighbourhood watch.

The rest of the time, however, he was okay with his lot; he was happy to be working on cars, riding his bike, drinking to excess, fucking to excess and hanging out with people he considered his family. It was tiring; the constant back and forth in his mind; one moment he was drinking himself into happy oblivion whilst balls deep in some groupie whose name he couldn’t remember and the next minute he felt nothing but guilt over the things he had done and would do and what he wanted from life, but felt like he didn’t deserve.

And that was the crux of the matter. He _didn’t_ deserve the normalcy; he didn’t deserve to come home to someone who made him happy. He’d done shit that wasn’t for any noble cause like a soldier fighting for his country, it was all just ridiculous unimportant bullshit for money or supposed respect.

Voices were filling the garage and Dean risked one last glance at Bobby before he left the room. He was looking at Dean with a mixture of pity and something else that he couldn’t quite pin down.

 “Idjit!"

 

***

 

Castiel was sitting on the steps of the wooden decking in his back yard. Gabriel had gone to bed after their brotherly bonding film-and-pizza session that had helped with the moping about Dean Winchester, muttering about how the biker dude was crazy if he didn’t wanna ‘tap that’. They watched Princess Bride; one of the films they’d seen together repeatedly when they were teenagers, and eaten pepperoni pizza and drank cheap beer. It was the closest to normal that Castiel had felt since he’d walked out on Balthazar, after walking _in_ on Balthazar in a rather compromising position with Castiel’s cousin, Alfie.

_Ugh._

His phone began ringing with a tone that took him a few seconds to recognise as Styx’s 'Renegade'. _The fuck?_ He glanced at his phone:

_Wyatt._

Now Castiel was utterly confused; he’d never met anybody called Wyatt in his entire life, so how in the blue Hell had the number got into his phone and more importantly why were they calling at 2am? He fumbled for a moment, trying to decide whether to answer or not.

He slid his finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Cas?” The voice sounded suspiciously familiar.

“Dean?”

“That’s me. Listen, I’ve got a body that I need help burying-“

Castiel’s eyes widened. “What?!”

At Dean’s chuckle he relaxed, realising that the joke was on him. He sighed, “How have you got my number? And who the fuck is Wyatt?”

There was a pause at the other end. “Dude, don’t tell me you’ve never seen Easy Rider.”

“Okay then I won’t.”

Dean huffed out a laugh. “I guess popular culture references are pretty lost on you then.”

“Why are you really calling Dean?” It was 2AM; his patience for nonsense was pretty thin.

“Well, I thought maybe we could go for something to eat, I’ve just got back from a job and I’m starving.”

“At two in the morning?” Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “What if I was asleep?”

“Then I would have just gone on my own.” Dean replied cheerily, missing the point entirely.

“Are you being deliberately obtuse?”

“Yes. Now, are you gonna come out with me?”

Castiel allowed himself a small smile. Dean was interested. He’d taken the time to get Castiel’s number and programme in his own, _with a custom ringtone no less._

“I suppose I could be persuaded.”

He could hear the smile in Dean’s voice when he replied. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

Seven and a half minutes later, Castiel was sitting with his crotch pressed against Dean’s ass and his face buried in the leather of Dean’s jacket as they sped through the deserted streets of Lawrence on the back of a chrome and black motorbike. He was beginning to understand the appeal of bikes; it was exhilarating like nothing else that he’d ever experienced and he tightened his grip around Dean’s waist as they took a corner hard.

“Biggerson’s okay?” Dean shouted over the noise of the engine.

Castiel nodded into Dean’s shoulder.

 

***

 

Dean couldn’t help but admire Castiel’s hair. Usually it looked like the guy had had a quick fumble in a cupboard or something, but now, sitting opposite him in the dingy lighting of a fast food restaurant, Castiel’s windswept hair looked like he’d been well and truly fucked six ways from Sunday and it was taking Dean more self control than he’d like to admit not to make it a reality.

Castiel looked over his menu and gave Dean a small smile. “What are you having?”

“Cheeseburger.” Dean replied, not taking his eyes off Castiel.

“Hmm,” The man nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds good to me too. Might need a coffee to stop me from falling asleep in my food.”

Dean frowned. “Am I that boring? I’m really starting to get a complex man; you’ve passed out on me three times already and we’ve only known each other just over 24 hours.”

Castiel smiled sardonically. “No Dean, I don’t think boring would ever be a word that could be used to describe you. I might fall asleep because it’s,“ He glanced at his watch. “Half past two in the morning.”

Dean lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Like I said, I was hungry.”

The waitress chose that moment to come over and take their orders. She blushed when Dean turned his killer smile on her and she walked away with their order, fanning herself with the menus.

“You really do have that effect on people.” Castiel muttered drily.

“What effect is that?” Dean asked, trying his hand at innocence and knowing that he was failing miserably.

“Mild nausea,” Castiel retorted. “You know full well what effect you have on… people, Dean.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “On ‘people’ Cas?”

“Yes,” Castiel hissed, flushing slightly, which Dean decided was infinitely more adorable than when the waitress had done it moments before.

 “What do you do for a living?” Castiel asked in an obvious attempt to steer the conversation away from the direction it was headed. Dean decided to be nice and humour him.

“I’m a mechanic.”

Castiel frowned. “I thought you said you’d just finished work?”

Dean smirked. “I did. Different job, Cas.”

“Two bacon cheeseburgers?” The waitress appeared by Dean’s arm again and placed the food down on the table.

“Thanks,” He checked her nametag. “Mandy.” He glanced over at Cas who was giving the poor woman a death stare that would have most drug lords quaking in their boots. To the girl’s credit, she barely seemed to notice as she was busy fawning over Dean.

“Dare I ask?” Castiel said once Mandy had disappeared, looking up at Dean through his eyelashes as he chewed a fry.

“Only if you really wanna know.”

Castiel seemed to consider it for a few moments. “Okay, go for it.”

Dean picked up his burger, “Protection run. Just some Electronics and stuff. Nothing too bad.” He took a bite, moaning around the mouthful. He hadn’t eaten much, except for half a cheese sandwich Bobby had foisted on him at lunch, since the previous night. The burger was heaven.

He looked up at his dining companion, who was frozen with a chip halfway to his mouth.

“What?” Dean asked, genuinely confused.

“Do you usually make pornographic noises when you eat?”

Dean tossed him a cheeky wink,“I guess it depends on what I’m eating.”

 

***

                Damn Dean and his innuendos. And damn him turning up at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, looking like sex on legs in his biker jacket and tight jeans. Damn him to Hell. Castiel generally wasn’t one for sex in public places, but right now it felt like something he’d be seriously tempted to get on board with if it meant getting to touch Dean allover.

“Where do you work, Cas?”

Castiel blinked. “Umm.. I’m starting work at the library on Monday.”

Dean choked on his beer, thumping his chest with his fist as he coughed. “You’re a librarian?” He rasped.

“Yes. Though it doesn’t usually get that reaction.”

Dean waved a hand as he took another drink. He swallowed slowly, waiting a few moments before he spoke again. “Do you wear glasses?”

_So Dean really wasn’t joking about that nerd fetish. Interesting._

“For reading, yeah.”

Dean let out a sound like a wounded animal.

“You’ll have to come and see me in there sometime,” Castiel purred, smirking when Dean’s eyes widened imperceptibly and seemed to almost glaze over. He’d visited the library earlier on in the week whilst Gabriel went out to explore the town and whilst the library had a fair selection of books, it was quite a small building. The one back in Denver had been huge and therefore hard to manage, even with other staff members. Lawrence library only had one other librarian who was in on the days that Castiel wasn’t. _Perfect._

“Plenty of alcoves,” Castiel added, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You know earlier in my car…”

Castiel followed his train of thought perfectly. “Yes. Your place or mine?”

“Mine’s probably closer. No insane brothers either.”

“What are we waiting for?”


	5. Chapter Four - Shook Me All Night Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an AC/DC song.  
> Slightly porny shorter chapter!

As soon as they stumbled in through Dean’s front door, they were on each other, tangled from legs to lips, Dean walking Castiel backwards, gasping into each other’s mouths like drowning men. Dean fisted his hand into Castiel’s hair, yanking the other man’s head back, exposing his neck to his lips and teeth and the little moans that Castiel was making were going straight to Dean’s cock and Dean needed Castiel to be naked like _yesterday_ so he reluctantly detached his mouth from Cas’s jaw and tugged at the hem of the smaller man’s shirt.

“Clothes off.” He growled, divesting himself of his jacket then shirt and beginning to work on his belt buckle.

Castiel stood stock still for a moment, staring at the newly exposed tattoos covering Dean’s muscular chest and upper arms. He’d gotten one across his ribs when he was at college, but that was nothing compared to the beautiful inky lines and splashes of colour decorating Dean’s body.

Dean, sensing that Castiel had ceased all activity, looked up at the slightly shorter man, his hands stilling, eyebrows raised. “Cas?”

Castiel blinked slowly, hesitantly tearing his gaze away. “Your tattoos are gorgeous,” He mumbled, clumsily fumbling with his brother’s Converse that he’d hastily crammed his feet into in a hurry after Dean’s phonecall.

Dean smirked. “Jo mentioned yours. Let me see.”

Castiel smiled sheepishly, then began unbuttoning his own shirt, choosing to look down at what he was doing rather than fumbling blindly. After a split second, the weight of Dean crashed into him, making him stumble backwards, crowding into his space until Castiel felt the wall against his back. 

“Taking too long.” He panted against Castiel’s lips, who had a split second to process and then the shirt was ripped open, sending buttons pinging in every direction. He quickly busied himself with removing the rest of Castiel’s clothing. Castiel was so used to Balthazar's gentle 'making love' approach that Dean's 'take charge' attitude was turning him the fuck on to the point where he almost felt sick with lust.

Castiel finally forced himself into action, crushing their lips and bodies together as Dean yanked Cas’s sweatpants and boxers down to his knees in one, freeing his painfully hard cock. His hands blindly went out to Dean's  already undone jeans, pushing them down and to Castiel's pleasant surprise, he discovered that Dean had forgone underwear. Castiel let out a pathetic whine when he felt Dean's naked hard length press against his own for the first time and then they were rutting against each other like horny teenagers and planting sloppy kisses on any part of eachother's exposed skin that they could get their lips on.

Dean planted his left hand on the wall next to Castiel's head, whilst he spat into his right and then took both of them in hand, stroking hard and fast. Castiel threw his head back, vaguely registering pain when it came into contact with the wall, but it was a dull sensation compared to the one of skin on skin. The pleasure was too good, too much and there was no way that he was going to last long with Dean stroking him and panting obscenities into his ear in that gorgeous low rumble of his.

"Cas... Cas babe, you gotta come for me... Need you to come now so we can go to bed and I can fuck you... God Cas, I really wanna fuck you... Have done since I saw you in those damn pajamas."

And that was all it took. Castiel came harder than he had in a long time, babbling incoherrantly and gripping Dean's tattooed bicep hard enough to leave bruises.

When he finally came down, panting and breathless, Dean was grinning at him brightly, his cock in hand, still hard. "Ready for round two?"

 

***

 

“Dean, you were supposed to be at the head of the table twenty minutes ago – Oh shit.”

On a scale of 1-10 of the worst ways to wake up, it was probably a decent 7. The only reason it wasn’t higher was because there were no liquids involved and Dean _hot as fuck in and out of bed_ Winchester was pressed against him, his face crushed in the crook of Castiel’s neck, breathing slow and even, signalling that he was still asleep despite the clatter of the humongous guy who’d barrelled into the room.

“Um, hey.” The guy said nervously, desperately trying to avert his eyes. It was then that Castiel realised it was the same man from the store. _Sam._ “I don’t suppose you’d mind giving Dean a shove, would you?”

“Not at all,” Castiel replied, his voice croaky with sleep.

He gripped Dean’s tattooed shoulder and pushed gently. “Dean,” When the man didn’t respond, Castiel pushed more firmly, waiting for Dean to react.

“Ugh.” Dean murmured and draped his arm across Castiel’s waist. As sweet as it was, Sam was still standing in the doorway, obviously agitated, so no time for cuteness.

“Dean.” He said more insistently and looked over to Sam for help. Sam seemed more than happy to oblige and kicked the end of the mattress, shaking it enough to finally stir Dean.

 “The fuck, Cas?” Dean grumbled and slowly lifted his head enough to be able to glare at Castiel.

And that was it, if Castiel hadn’t have already been gone on Dean, that would have been the moment he would have finally given in. Dean’s hazy expression combined with his bedhead was both endearing and sexy in equal measures in a way that Castiel wasn’t sure if he wanted to cuddle Dean or kiss him to death.

“Dean, the guys are waiting for you man.” Sam interjected, tearing Dean’s attention from Castiel.

“Oh fuck,” He groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “Sam, you take the meeting, I have sleeping and stuff to do.”

Sam rolled his eyes, clearly used to having similar conversations on a fairly regular basis.

“No. Not good enough. The guys wanna see their fearless leader. Now.” Sam strode around to Dean’s side of the bed and smacked him on the arm not-too-gently. “Dean, I swear to God I will send Bobby up here and you know that he’s had a bug in his ass ever since he got shot.”

“Fucking fine!” Dean flung back the covers with a ridiculously dramatic flourish and stood up to face Sam, completely and utterly naked. And whilst Castiel undoubtedly appreciated the view, the same could not be said for Sam, who let out an exasperated sigh and made his way to the door.

“Five minutes Dean, and put some clothes on for fuck’s sake!”

“Fucking brothers,” Dean muttered under his breath and Castiel sighed. It was so unfair, both of the Winchesters were gorgeous; Dean in a more obvious, stereotypical way in that his features were perfect and perfectly symmetrical on his face, whereas Sam was slightly quirkier looking, but still handsome.

By now, Dean was already partly dressed; his unbuttoned jeans were hanging dangerously low on his hips and he was pulling a black shirt on over his head. Castiel licked his lips. Dean Winchester was undoubtedly the hottest man he'd ever seen, let alone slept with, and that was including a kid from his high school named Brady, with sculpted cheekbones who he'd mooned over and made mix tapes for until he'd been told to back the fuck off by his girlfriend.

Dean's attention turned back to Castiel, who was only partially covered by the bed sheet.

"Mmmm," Dean mumbled leaning down for a kiss, “You look so good in my bed.”

Castiel looped his arms around Dean’s neck to bring him closer. He resisted for a moment, but Castiel tugged harder until he had Dean on top of him, sucking a lazy hickey into the soft skin above his t-shirt.

Castiel pulled back to admire his handiwork as Dean said, “Are you still gonna be here when I get back? I’ll only be about 30 minutes.” He brushed his fingers through Cas’s hair, smiling at the way it stood up at crazy angles and pressed a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“Yeah,” Castiel shifted slightly, trying to get a bit of friction on his rapidly hardening dick. “Though it’s Gabes last day here, so I need to be back straight after.”

Dean’s face fell. “Yeah, okay. I’ll give you a lift again if you want?”

“I’d like that.” Castiel smiled beatifically up at Dean, who dropped one final kiss on Cas’s mouth before pushing himself up and off the bed.

 

***

 

“Sorry I’m late guys.” Dean threw himself down into his seat, trying to avoid meeting anybody’s eyes. Sam had undoubtedly taken great pleasure in telling everyone what he’d careened into. Dean was well aware how domestic it must have looked and he was beginning to not give a shit. Castiel was something else; a great lay, smart, gorgeous and most importantly, not willing to put up with one iota of Dean’s bullshit, which was something he wasn’t used to. Most people that he bedded were all submissive and let Dean take without giving back (which he never did, ‘cause he wasn’t a _total_ asshole, but the point was that he _could_ if he wanted).

Yep, Castiel was something special alright.

“Yeah, we heard all about your bedfellow.” Rufus snickered.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and lit up a cigarette. “I’m sure you did. So come on let’s get it out of the way, so I can get back to screwing a piece of ass you guys could only hope to score.”

Benny and Ash laughed. Rufus choked on his coffee and Sam levelled him with yet another bitchface.

“Dean, as much as we love hearing where your dick has been recently, maybe we should discuss some business.” Bobby grumbled.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. So the run last night was good. Everyone happy with their money?”

There were general mutterings of assent around the table. “Good, so I got a call from Crowley last night, just after you guys all left.”

Everyone seemed to sit up straighter in their seats, suddenly serious. “He wants to meet to discuss a business arrangement.”

“What?” Benny cried at the same time Garth said; “We don’t need anything to do with that slimeball.”

 “Dean, he’s a glorified drug dealer, what could we possibly have to talk about with him?” Sam asked softly.

“I’m hoping that he wants to discuss a truce that will benefit us both. Or at least, us.” Dean replied frankly. “Because we can’t keep this pissing competition going. It could potentially cost us our relationship with the Angels, which we desperately need right now.”

There was silence around the table until Sam spoke again. “Okay, so when are you setting this meeting up for?”

Dean ran a hand through his still-messy hair. “As soon as possible. Today if possible."

 

 


	6. Chapter Five - All Against All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by The Haunted.  
> Another short one, but no porn this time. Apologies!

“Hello darlings.”

Dean first glanced to his left at Sam and then behind them where Benny, Garth and Rufus were standing, partly inside the doorway of the warehouse, looking vaguely menacing, though Garth would have trouble appearing frightening to a Chihuahua.

Crowley had insisted upon a meeting that afternoon, telling Dean that he had urgent information that he simply _had_ to hear, so Dean had reluctantly taken Castiel home on his bike so that he could meet up with the guys afterwards.

And here they were; in some abandoned warehouse just outside of Topeka where it was rumoured Crowley brought people he didn’t like very much to play with their squishy bits. It was enough to have Dean and the rest of the crew way past being on edge and Dean was beginning to regret his decision, despite the fact that Crowley seemed to be alone.

Appearances, however, could be deceptive.

“Fergus,” Dean sneered.

Crowley’s grin widened. “Rocky. Bullwinkle. Good to see you both again.”

He turned his attention to Sam. Crowley always seemed to make a beeline for Sam. Probably because with Dean he was meet with a grin and vague indifference. Sam, however, continually seemed to rise to Crowley’s bullshit. “Tell me, Moose, how is that lady friend of yours?”

In his peripheral vision, Dean saw his brother tense and straighten up.

Apparently today was no exception.

“None of your fucking business that’s how.”

Crowley spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Just curious about the family, that’s all. Trying to make civil conversation.”

“As if you could do such a thing,” Dean interrupted, garnering Crowley’s interest. In the several decades that Crowley had been operating in Kansas, he’d never once joined with or asked for another crews help. It was extremely suspicious that he was doing so now.

“I’m really rather pleasant as a business partner you know.” He said in mock hurt.

“We’ll never find out.” Sam replied, “Come on Dean, he’s just wasting our time.”  Sam turned away and Dean made to as well, not quite sure if he was relieved that this meeting was ending early or not.

“Boys, wait.” The usual jovial tone was suddenly absent and it made Dean pause, but not turn back. “I’ve got information that you will find highly useful.”

“We’re listening Crowley.” Dean said, still facing the door. Sam was a couple of paces in front of him, but Dean could see his hand poised, ready to grab the gun that Dean knew he kept tucked in the waistband of his jeans.

“You’re dealing with the Angels, am I right?”

Sam shot Dean an unreadable glance over his shoulder and Dean frowned. It wouldn’t be hard for Crowley to find out about their budding relationship with the Angels MC if he knew where to ask, but it was more that he obviously _had_ asked that concerned Dean. If he’d been keeping tabs on them, then that was dangerous – more for Crowley than for them, but still.

Dean did turn then. “You know you are. So what do you want? Are you expecting us to act like it’s sacred information, ‘cause it really isn’t-“

Crowley cut Dean off. “The Angels are betraying you.”

Sam appeared at his side. “How do you figure that?”

“Well, all of a sudden you’re both interested. What’s a girl to do?”

Dean sighed wearily. “Just fucking tell us Crowley.”

“Fine. But I want something from you two morons in return.”

 

***

 

Castiel was in his bedroom, sorting through his clothes, deciding what would be best for his first day at the library tomorrow and what was in desperate need of a wash when he heard the front door opening and Gabriel clattering in. He’d enjoyed the peace and quiet of the previous few hours since Dean had dropped him off, in comparison to the wild and bizarre week he’d had up until then, and whilst alphabetizing his books was usually something he found therapeutic, he just couldn’t properly focus.

It may or may not have had something to do with Dean Winchester.

“Cassy?” Gabe’s voice resonated throughout the house. He’d always had a knack for making himself heard despite his small stature. “You home?”

“In the bedroom!” Castiel called back and moments later he heard the tell-tale thud of footsteps on the stairs.

He was just folding a pair of black slacks when his brother appeared in the doorway to his right.

“Have fun with our dear aunty?” Castiel asked, not deviating from his task and knowing full well that their Aunt Naomi and Gabriel had a tenuous relationship at best.

Gabriel threw himself onto Castiel’s big double bed, let out a dramatic sigh and stared up at the ceiling. “She’s still a controlling bitch. I’d say that I don’t know how you’ll deal with her, but she absolutely loves you. The whole time she was asking ‘Where’s my dear Castiel, he’s such a good boy.’” He looked over at Castiel. “Wouldn’t be saying that if she knew where your ass had been last night.”

Castiel tried not to let it show. He knew that the slightest giveaway in his expression would send Gabriel into a tailspin. “And where do you think my ass was last night, Gabriel?” He replied cooly, mentally congratulating himself for keeping his tone even and voice steady.

“On Dean Winchester’s dick?” Gabriel offered flatly as if it was old news.

“How could you possibly know that?” Castiel asked, incredulous. He dropped the slacks into a drawer and closed it.

“A-ha!” Gabriel suddenly leapt up and was grinning at Castiel, finger wagging in an accusatory manner. “I didn’t know, but now I do.”

_Goddammit. Every time._

Castiel willed himself to be virtually anywhere else. He loved Gabriel, despite his ridiculous music taste and insistence that Castiel must ‘bone’ every semi-attractive man within a five mile radius, but sharing details about any encounters that he _did_ have was taking things too far.

“What was he like? Was he everything you dreamed he’d be?” At Castiel’s tight lipped expression, he tried again. “Come on, give me something to go back to Balthazar with here. The prick needs to know how much bigger Dean’s cock is than his.”

Castiel snorted. “So much bigger.” In fact, there wasn’t much in it, but Balthazar _was_ an asshole and so Castiel couldn’t begin to feel bad about telling a slight fib. And anyway, Dean truly was the best thing to happen to him in a long time. So much so that he was already itching to see him again.

“Good to know,” Gabriel leered. “I’ll be sure to let slip next time Anna goes out with him.”

Another bone of contention for Castiel was that during his five year relationship with Balthazar, his sister had grown close with him and even after their break up, Anna still remained in contact. In fact she spoke to Balthazar more often that she did Castiel.

“Please do,” Castiel murmured, balling up a pair of socks. “And then take a picture of his face when you tell him that it was the best sex of my life and send it to me.”

That part was definitely _not_ a lie.

 

***

 

“So let me get this straight,” Bobby was somewhere between pissed off and _extremely_ pissed off, but that had kind of been his default setting lately, and Dean was gradually finding it harder and harder to ignore. “You two idjits made an off-the-cuff decision without consulting the club?”

Dean sighed heavily and glanced at the other men seated around the table. One cursory look was all that was needed to determine that Bobby was the only one with concerns.

Dean decided it was best to humour him for now, at least until he could get a chance to talk to Bobby privately and find out what had crawled up his ass and died.

“Yeah, we did.” Dean looked to Sam for some kind of indication of what he should do. Should he tell the guys about the Angels or not?

Sam gave a small nod and so Dean began. “Listen guys. Crowley told us a few things about the Angels. A few interesting details that they themselves have neglected to tell us.”

“Like what?” Rufus asked, concern marring his features.

“Like the fact that they’ve been screwing us. That protection run last night? Not quite what we thought.”

“What then? Drugs, guns?” Garth said.

Dean sighed. “It was electronic equipment, but not iPods and Playstations,” Dean admitted. “Apparently, the HGV was full of missile guidance systems and components. We need to be careful in future with any protection runs they want us to do. Check the merchandise rather than going on blind faith.”

There was a stunned silence around the table and Dean winced internally as he waited for the shitstorm to hit.

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” Benny exclaimed, rising up quickly, causing his chair to topple over. “Are you telling me that we transported terrorist weaponry through Lawrence?”

Dean nodded, dropping his head into his hands as other voices began to shout and the panic slowly set in.

“Wait now, just a minute.” Rufus’s stern voice was calm amongst the chaos. “We’ve only really got Crowley’s word for this, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. “But he seemed pretty damned sure.”

Bobby finally spoke up. “The word of a scumbag like Crowley ain’t worth the paper it’s written on.” He paused, scowling intently at Sam and then Dean, “What did he want in return? You two are being awful quiet about that. There’s no way Crowley’s telling you this out of the kindness of his little black heart.”

Dean lifted his head and looked up at the guys seated around the table. His _friends._ His _family._

_Goddammit._

“He didn’t want anything other than our word that we’d keep him out of it when shit hits the fan. He wants their empire and if any Angels are left when we tear them down, then he wants them to trust him. Makes it easier for him to assimilate.” The lie tripped so easily off Dean’s tongue, he was almost convinced that it was the truth himself. He and Sam had made an executive decision to keep the actual truth just between them until it was absolutely necessary. Hopefully the others would never find out, but if they did… well it probably wouldn’t end well.

Bobby looked sceptical, but nobody else said anything. Benny had reclaimed his seat and everyone seemed to swallow the lie. Dean felt shitty about lying to them all, but there was no other way out of it. Not right now at least.

“So what do we do about the Angels? Are we going to keep trading with them?” Ash asked, tentatively.

“Yes, for now. Though, if you could maybe hack into accounts and records belonging to their members, we may be able to get some more useful information on precisely what they’re up to. It may give us an advantage.”

Sam cut in, “We’re going to keep everything as normal as possible. We can’t let them know that anything has changed.”

“So if we find out that the merchandise is more missiles and shit?” Garth asked. “What then? You want us to be checking what we’re carrying, but once we know, are we expected to just transport it?”

“I know it’s gonna be hard, but yes. We need their absolute trust.” Sam replied, looking every inch as sorry as Dean felt.

“I’m sorry guys,” Dean suddenly said. “I really thought the Angels would be good for us.”

“We all did brother,” Benny was all sympathy and empathy and other ‘thy’s’ that Dean really didn’t deserve. “We all did.”


	7. Chapter Six - A Question Of Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a song by Iced Earth.  
> Thank you to everyone who's reading and commenting and stuff; really making my day!

 

“Dean, you do know that this isn’t a normal date, right?” Castiel said, not taking his eye off the paper target about 20ft away. He had been eager to see where Dean disappeared off to every morning for the last week and a half they’d been ‘seeing’ each other (which consisted of Castiel dropping everything he was doing as soon as Dean rang, no matter what time of the day or night, to have some of the hottest sex imaginable. So yeah, Cas had been ‘seeing’ Dean – he’d been seeing _all_ of him in fact).

He’d been expecting something slightly different from the old war bunker he was shown, though there was no doubt that it was truly awesome. There was a beautiful library (“Built for Sammy, the massive nerd that he is.”); four double sized bedrooms, one of which was occupied by a short bearded guy (“Chuck got kicked out by his old lady last week, so he’ll crash here until he finds somewhere.”); a decent sized kitchen with an entire fridge dedicated to beer (“Can never have too much!”) and the indoor shooting range. Which is where they’d ended up after Cas mentioned that he’d never held a gun before.

Dean huffed out a laugh, right next to his ear.

“I’m aware.”

Dean’s body being tightly pressed up against Castiel was not helping him to concentrate in any way –  in fact it was having the opposite effect; all that tight muscle and power leaning into him was rather distracting, especially when he was still sore and aching from that morning’s round of kinky sex. Dean slid his right hand along Castiel’s raised arm, wrapping it around Cas’s fist curled around the grip of the gun, supporting it; probably to help with the recoil. Castiel took a deep shaky breath to steady himself, making sure that he didn’t do something stupid like pulling the trigger before Dean gave the okay.

“Just relax,” Dean murmured soothingly, but all Castiel could think of was the hard line of Dean’s body against his back, remembering the feeling of Dean inside him just a few short hours ago.

_Focus, Castiel, Focus._

“That’s it,” Dean reassured. “You’re doing great so far; now just keep your eyes on your target… exhale slowly and…” He cut himself off, just as Cas pulled the trigger.

Castiel was surprised that he hit pretty close to the center. Certainly closer than he thought he’d get.

“Now try again for me,” Dean directed, taking his hand and heat away from Cas and stepping back. Castiel had to steady himself to concentrate on the target, already missing the feeling of Dean behind him.

He was pretty astounded by his own apparent skills, when he repeated the shot several times until the clip was emptied.

He lowered the gun and turned to look at Dean over his shoulder.

“I did okay, right?”

Dean smiled widely at him. “Yeah Cas, you did good.”

***

“So,” Castiel took a bite out of his burger, chewing quietly whilst Dean watched him carefully, eyes curious but guarded. “Now that we’ve established I’m a mean motherfucker with a gun, what next?”

Dean's face broke into a handsome grin, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “What do you wanna do? I’m off all day today, no club business and nothing to do at the yard. We can do practically anything that you want.”

Cas’s face fell slightly. He was on the late shift at the library. Damn. Since they’d started whatever it was that they were currently dancing around, they hadn’t actually spent a day together. _Just almost every night._

Dean noticed Castiel’s sullen expression. “What is it, Cas?”

“I’m at work in a couple of hours.” He muttered glumly as he picked up a fry off his plate. “I’m working a four ‘till close shift.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “So we need to find something to fill the next couple of hours with.” His heavy gaze fixed on Cas who squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. He knew that look. That was Dean’s ‘sexy times are afoot’ look.

“L-like what?” Castiel tried his best to sound nonchalant, but it was obvious by Dean’s devious smirk that he could see right through it.

“Liiiiike go to the museum of natural history.”

_What?_

Castiel’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head slightly, analysing Dean’s face for any sign as to why the Hell Dean-I’m-a-fucking-outlaw-biker-Winchester would want to go to a stuffy museum that only nerds like himself would be interested in. Balthazar had reluctantly taken Castiel to the Museum of Nature and Science back in Denver. Once. And that was only so he could get laid and he’d moaned the whole way round about how bored he was and how dull the exhibits were. Castiel had gotten so frustrated that they’d left halfway through the Mythbusters exhibit.

Finding only a serious expression looking inquisitively back at him, evidently waiting for his response, Cas raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Yeah, I’d love to go.”

 

***

 

It was a testament to Castiel’s strength of character that when Dean’s arm brushed against his several times during their time in the Bugtown exhibition, he resisted the urge to clasp their hands together and start skipping like a little girl through a field of flowers. Just being in such close proximity to Dean was making heat pool in his belly and his heart beat faster. It was like every rom-com cliché rolled into one, but he wasn’t sure that he could bring himself to care.

He was happy.

Gabriel had phoned once or twice since he’d returned to Denver, mainly to enquire about Dean’s penis, but also to make sure that Castiel was okay. Gabriel was happy that Castiel was happy.

Hugs and puppies all round.

“This may be the strangest date I’ve been on,” He mumbled absent mindedly over Dean’s shoulder from where he was crouched down in front of a tank full of arachnids, watching them scuttling over each other and reading the accompanying information.

“Mmm,” Dean replied, slightly distractedly as a particularly large spider seemed to charge at another much smaller one. “Guns, bugs and dinosaurs though, what’s not to like?”

Castiel had to concede that Dean was correct.  Despite the somewhat unconventional day, it had been the most fun he’d had in living memory. He leant forward further so that his lips were right against Dean’s ear. “And awesome sex this morning. Can’t forget that.”

Dean quickly turned his head so that his mouth was mere centimetres from Castiel’s now. He looked at Cas from the corner of his eye, slowly taking in the features of his face. “Goddamn,” He murmured. “How could I ever forget that?”

Castiel quirked a small smile and then said, “Fancy going through the worm tunnel?”

Dean looked momentarily puzzled at the sudden direction change of the conversation, but then his trademark smirk graced his lips and he winked. “Oooh yeah. Talk dirty to me baby.”

 

***

“You did _what_ , Dean?”

Dean sighed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other impatiently. “It’s not hard to understand, Sammy. I took Cas to a museum. End of.”

His sasquatch of a brother just gave him another bitchface. “No, Dean. Not end of. When have you ever, in the history of your _life_ taken someone to a museum?”

Dean opened the fridge and stuck his head inside, desperate to get away from his ridiculous brother and his invasive questioning. The plan to hide there would have been totally flawless, were it not for the smelly cheese that Bobby liked, sitting smugly on the middle shelf right in front of his face.  Between the pong of the cheese which distinctly reminded him of the locker room in high school after a particularly vigorous game, and Sam’s ever-present desire to star in the worst kind of chick flick movie, Dean was at an impasse. What would be the lesser of two evils in this situation?

“Ugh!” He pulled his head out and slammed the refrigerator door shut in a mixture of frustration and revulsion. “I swear Bobby only brings those disgusting cheeses in to gross me out!”

Sam was laughing at him from his position leaning against the kitchen table with his legs crossed at the ankles and his Arnie-arms folded across his chest. Dean always teased him about his ridiculously muscular physique. It made him feel slightly better about the teeny tiny amount of fat just below his belly button. Though, recently –thanks to all the acrobatics with Cas – that had been going away.

_Cas.._

It had been a good day. Great sex first thing, then it turned out that Cas was a fucking pro with a gun in his hand (and _that_ had been insanely hot) and then a trip to a museum with dinosaurs and shit. Though the dinosaurs had been a bonus really. He’d wanted to do something nice for Cas and when those gorgeous blue eyes had positively lit up at the mention of going to a museum, it actually kind of warmed Dean’s heart.

The thing was – _and is_ – that Dean never really did anything nice for anyone outside of his family. Sure, as far as the Club went, he’d do anything for them, but Cas was nothing more than a guy – a very attractive, sexy, intelligent, sharp guy who was dynamite in bed, but a guy none the less – that he was fucking. Regularly. Pretty much every morning for the past week, in fact.

_Fuck._

He ran a hand through his hair and mirrored Sam’s position against the countertop as Benny entered the Clubhouse kitchen.  He glanced from Dean’s surly expression to Sam’s amused one and then back again. “’Sup brother?”

There was a moment of silence when Dean squeezed his eyes shut and wished he was somewhere, _anywhere_ else other than a kitchen in Lawrence having the two people he was closest to in the world about to analyse his sex life.

“Dean took his –“ Sam paused, waving his hand in the air as if searching for the right word, “whatever Castiel is, to a _museum.”_

Benny snorted out a laugh. “Is that why Castiel practically skipped out of the diner earlier?”

Dean jerked his head up to shoot his friend a glare. One that usually meant someone was about to get shot. Under normal circumstances, Benny would have been forced into a respectful silence, but now he just laughed harder.

“Oh brother, you are gone. Hook, line and sinker.” And with that Benny was walking away again, unaware that he had just dropped Dean further into the quagmire of Sam’s questions.

Sam waited until Benny was turning left out of the kitchen, towards the library, and then finally spoke. “You took Cas to Benny and Andrea’s place?” He sounded incredulous, almost awe-struck and that was what prompted Dean to answer.

“Yeah,” He shrugged, pushing himself away from the counter top. “I don’t get what the big deal is, I really don’t.”

“Dean,” Sam said, emphatically. “You haven’t taken anybody – any conquests – there since Lisa.”

“Look Sam,” Dean sighed impatiently. “It really isn’t that important. Cas is fun. We’re having fun. Nothing serious.”

Chuck barrelling into the kitchen, cutting off whatever Sam was about to say was a welcome distraction, until he opened his mouth and breathlessly said, “Prez, there’s a cop outside wanting to speak to you. Says it’s important.”

“My life, seriously.” Dean mumbled to no-one in particular, following Chuck towards the stairs leading out of the bunker. His mind spooled frantically through recent events. There was no way that the cops had anything on them. They’d been ridiculously careful and toned down their activities. Everybody was putting more hours into their day jobs and they hadn’t done a protection run for the Angels since the week previously.

The cop had to be just fishing for information.

Dean hoped desperately that the cop was just fucking fishing for information.

Outside, running his fingers over Dean’s Thunderbird, was a greying male police officer with a bit of a belly that Dean knew for a fact he hadn’t seen before. Some of the local cops were in the LMC’s pocket – sadly not the Sheriff, though it hadn’t been through lack of trying on Bobby’s part and Dean’s since he’d taken over – it was mostly cops lower down the food chain, but that wasn’t much of an issue. After all they were usually the ones to do the legwork on disturbances, drugs busts and the like. Anything that the MC was likely to get caught up in.

“Can I help you?” Dean asked flatly, hoping that if he appeared bored enough, the douche cop would fuck off.

The man turned to face him with calculating grey-green eyes, flashing Dean a smile that was more of a grimace. “Name’s Marv and you are Mr Winchester, I presume. Dean Winchester?”

“What do you want?” He wasn’t answering any questions until he knew why there was an officer of the law touching his bike and asking dumb questions on his damn _day off._

The cop – _Marv_ – sighed, clearly understanding that Dean wasn’t going to make his life easy.

“I’m just doing some routine follow up on an arson attack on a warehouse in Topeka last night. What is your relationship to a,” He glanced down at the open notebook in his right hand. “Mr Fergus Crowley?”

“None,” Dean replied between gritted teeth. “We know of him, he knows of us. We keep away from each other’s turf. That’s the way it’s been for a long time. Come on Officer, do your homework.”

“I see, “ Marv replied, obviously not convinced at all. “So what is your relationship to the Angels Motorcycle Club? I take it that you aren’t going to bullshit me about this one, Mr Winchester? Zachariah Adler is not one to go unobserved. When he sets up new business relationships, people take notice.”

“What does this have to do with Crowley or some warehouse?” Playing dumb was a speciality of Dean’s. People were often caught off guard when it turned out that the pretty dumbass turned out to be… well not. Except for the pretty part.

Marv heaved a long-suffering sigh. “We think that the warehouse was somewhere that Mr Crowley conducted his _business_ out of. We also have reason to believe that the Angels were the ones to set it ablaze.”

_Well shit._

 

***

 

It was five minutes to closing, and although Castiel loved his job at the library, he couldn’t wait to get home, get changed and then hopefully see Dean. Again. Despite it only having been about five and a half hours since Dean dropped him off at work, Castiel was already feeling the ache from not being close to him.

It was pathetic, really, and under normal circumstances he’d probably be ashamed of himself. But Dean was far from what constituted normal circumstances.

However, luck was not on his side and with only two minutes left on the clock someone waltzed in as if they had all the time in the world. From his position behind the desk, Castiel had a good view of most of the library aside from a couple of blind spots/nooks where he and Dean had yet to make good on their talk in the diner.

The man was in a policeman’s uniform, but he didn’t seem to carry himself as a police officer would; he was too casual even for an off-duty officer. Although he could be a new recruit, but the guy looked a little long in the tooth for that.

“Can I help you?” Castiel asked pleasantly, despite the fact that he should have been speeding his way to Dean a whole minute ago.

“Oh,” The man looked startled when Castiel spoke to him, as if he hadn’t seen him. “Sorry, I didn’t really see you there.”

Castiel frowned. There was definitely something off-kilter about the guy. There was no way that he hadn’t noticed Castiel; he was behind the desk directly opposite the one and only door.

He glanced at Castiel and then did a double take. “Hey aren’t you the guy seeing Dean Winchester?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow in a sceptical gesture. The man didn’t strike him as the type to indulge in local gossip.

“Uhh, yeah.”

“He’s the leader of that motorcycle club, right?”

“I’m sorry, are you an officer on official business or are you just in here to waste my time?” Castiel didn’t like the way the conversation was headed and even though losing his job for being rude to a customer would be bad, it would be worse for this guy to glean even a speck of information about Dean from him.

The man looked down at himself, as if suddenly realising that he was wearing a cop’s uniform. “Oh, this?” He chuckled softly. “I’m not a policeman, I’m on my way to a fancy dress party.”

Castiel was almost relieved, but he was still pretty weirded out by the guy. There was no way that he wasn’t mentioning this to Dean when he next saw him.

_Fucking hurry up you damn creeper._

“I like books,” The man carried on conversationally, disappearing between two shelves.

“Then you’re in the right place,” Castiel muttered sarcastically.

Either the man didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him, because the next thing he said was, “When authors create stories, they become Gods of tiny, intricate dimensions unto themselves. So many worlds! It’s truly fascinating.”

Whilst that certainly was an interesting view that Castiel hadn’t really considered before, right then he wasn’t thinking about anything other than getting to his phone to call Dean to persuade him to come to help him forcibly remove the man from the library.

“Any way, it was nice meeting you, Mr….?”

Castiel looked up again and breathed a sigh of relief; the man was standing by the door, ready to leave.

“Novak,” He replied automatically.

“I’m Marv.” The man declared, before pushing open the door and disappearing into the night.

 

***

 

There was nothing for it; an emergency meeting had to be called.

There was no way that the information the cop had given him wasn’t vitally important in their quest to find out what the Angels were up to and he couldn’t bare another lie or half-truth. He needed to bring it to the table, no matter how pissed off everyone would be about coming in on a rare timeout day.

They’d get over it.

Bobby grumbled like the cantankerous bastard he was, but at least he’d cheered up somewhat in the past couple of days; Benny and Sam were already hanging around the Clubhouse which only left Ash – who it turned out was asleep on the pool table in the bunker; Garth – who was sitting at home playing Call Of Duty and Rufus – who was sitting at home drinking whisky and polishing his guns.

Within an hour of the cop leaving, all seven officers of LMC were seated around the table – some more sober than others, but still, there and ready to listen to more bullshit.

“So, I guess you’re probably wondering why I gathered you all here today…” Dean tried for light and funny, but nobody raised even so much as a smile, at least until Rufus spoke out.

“Is it true that you took that librarian kid to a _museum_?” Then everybody was all sniggers.

“Haha, fucking funny you bunch of bastards. Can we focus for a second please?” Dean wasn’t really pissed off; he was just playing the part to amuse them whilst he could. They wouldn’t be laughing once he dispensed the news.

“Did you hold hands?” Garth teased, “Was it all deep searching looks and breathy sighs?”

“Fuck you all,” Dean muttered petulantly, not entirely acting anymore.

“Well I think it’s sweet,” Benny drawled with a big smile on his face. “For some reason, that poor boy thinks that the sun shines out of Dean’s ass.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Bobby added gruffly. “He’s nothing but a pain in the ass, far as I’m concerned.”

“Okay ladies that’s enough,” Dean cut in, “Shall we just leave it at me having a huge cock and save any further speculation on my awesome sexual prowess for the knitting class later?”

Sam stifled a laugh, but everyone else obediently went quiet with smiles on their faces.

Dean took a deep, bracing breath and decided to just go for it; no beating around the bush. “Guys, I had an officer of the law visit me today.”

The smiles instantaneously vanished and there was a lot of shuffling as everyone sat up straighter in their seats.

Dean continued, “He told me that the warehouse we met Crowley in the other day had burned down last night and they like the Angels for it.”

There was a moment of tense silence.

“Any bodies?” Rufus queried.

“Yeah, a couple of Crowley’s grunts. Guys guarding the place. No big players.”

“So what now?” Garth asked. “Things are starting to get a bit out of hand. If they burned down the warehouse where Crowley met with us, then it means that they probably know about it.”

“Maybe it’s a warning to us as much as it is Crowley,” Benny added thoughtfully.

Dean pulled a cigarette out of the packet in front of him on the table, along with his lighter.

“Maybe,” He granted, voice muffled around the cigarette between his lips.  He lit it and set the lighter down on top of the pack. He breathed out a thick stream of smoke before adding, “Ash, what info do you have on their accounts?”

Ash gestured with his thumb to the area behind him where he kept his computer tucked away in an alcove. “It’s on my laptop. Wanna take a look?”


	8. Chapter Seven - It's My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a Bon Jovi song.  
> Oooh and porn.  
> Warnings for a very brief mention of rape.

 

“Winchester.”

“Hello Dean.”

Dean glanced furtively at the group of men crowded around Ash’s laptop, elbowing each other out of the way, pushing for a closer look at the information that they couldn’t understand anyway because it was all still encrypted. Rufus had his bony elbow embedded just below Benny’s ribcage and Garth was _attempting_ to edge Sam out of the way by treading on his toes, but the behemoth was barely responding.

He slunk away from them and moved towards the back of the boardroom, cradling his phone close to his chest and trying to find as much privacy as possible without drawing attention to himself.

He raised the phone back to his ear. “Hey Cas. Now really isn’t the best time, can I call you back in a bit?”

There was a stilted pause at the other end. “Sure Dean. I mean, you have other things to be doing right? I’m sorry, I just assumed because of the last week-“

“Cas, shut the fuck up for a moment.” Dean blurted, not wanting Cas to go down the road of thinking that Dean didn’t want him. Because it was most certainly the opposite. “It’s just that shit is kind of hitting the fan at the moment; we had a police officer sniffing around earlier and it’s made the guys a little nervous.”

Another pause, then. “I understand. So I guess I’ll see you soon?”

Dean had intended to reassure Cas that he wanted to do absolutely nothing else more than enjoy a relaxing evening with him, eating popcorn, drinking beer and watching Star Wars, but then there was a loud commotion across the room and Ash was frantically gesturing for Dean to come over, and his distracted reply was probably not what Cas had wanted to hear.

“Yeahuh. Sure. Later twinkie.”

It was a slight douche move on Dean’s part, but he would call Cas back later and make it up to him. Problem solved. But for right now, he had more important things to worry about.

 

***

 

_Wanker._

Castiel knew when he was being dismissed and Dean had definitely just dismissed him and their…whatever the fuck it was. He slumped down into the ugly sofa further and considered his options as he spun his phone between his thumb and forefinger.

  1. He could stay home and mope and wait like an idiot for Dean to maybe call him back.



Or.  2.    He could go out and explore the nightlife without being on the lookout for Dean, maybe make some friends. After all he’d been living there almost two weeks and he hadn’t really seen much of what Lawrence had to offer.

A good idea in theory, but in practice he had no idea where to go and nobody to go with. All the places he’d experienced so far were intrinsically linked to LMC; even the damned store was now tainted with memories of Dean.

_Later Twinkie._

Dean hadn’t called him that since before he’d known his name. It felt weird now; a lot had happened in a week, so much so that it felt a lot longer and Dean kind of reminding him about it was both disappointing and frustrating. He’d thought – especially after such an amazing day – that Dean may have been beginning to see him as more than just an easy lay, but now? Not so much.

He was well aware of his insecurities and where a lot of them stemmed from (Balthazar) so he  knew that he was probably getting ahead of himself and freaking out over nothing, but it was hard to keep his thoughts and imagination in check when he couldn’t get reassurance from the one person his insecurities were mainly concerning at the moment.

The main thing Castiel had himself in knots over was the idea of Dean sleeping with other people. The man was well within his rights to fuck anyone he wanted, but the thought of Dean with someone else – probably female – was enough to make Castiel feel queasy. And vaguely not good enough.

Again.

_What would Gabriel do?_

Actually, that was an insane question to ask, because his brother would have already been out the door and jumping on the nearest human being, single or not. And it would be equally insane for Castiel to consider it as a viable option.

_Wouldn’t it?_

 

***

 

“Winchester.”

“Dean you’d better get your ass down here now,” Bobby’s old lady, Ellen was on the other end of the phone and by the sounds of it, at the Roadhouse. Which was weird, because when Bobby had left with the others – everyone aside from him, Sam and Ash – about an hour ago, he’d definitely said that Ellen was at home.

“That boy of yours is gonna start a fight in here soon and I’ll be forwarding the bill for damages onto you.”

_Seriously?_

Could his day actually get any worse?

“I take it you’re talking about Cas,” He replied calmly, voice free of any real emotion, though in reality he was feeling a mixture of anger, frustration and just a hint of lust. He was only human after all and the thought of Cas in general – but especially slender nerdy Cas holding his own in a fight – was something that already provoked a totally (in)appropriate response in Dean.

Sam looked up at him sharply, a questioning look on his face.

“You bet your ass I’m talking about him. He’s drunk as a skunk and generating a lot of attention from some unsavoury characters with less than honourable intentions.”

Dean felt like banging his head off the nearest wall. Once, _just once_ , he’d like to be able to catch a fucking break. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with at the moment with the whole Crowley/Angels/Cops thing, now Cas was acting like a prize dickhead just because Dean dared not to see him for once.

This was exactly why he didn’t _do_ steady relationships.

“Okay, thanks Ellen. I’ll be there soon as I can.”

He ended the call and jammed his phone back in his pocket. “I’ve gotta go out, Cas is at the Roadhouse causing problems.”

“Cas?” Sam asked incredulously. “You’re talking about librarian Cas? The guy who fainted when you kneecapped someone?”

“The very same.”

Ash looked up from the computer. “Sure thing, Prez. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Cheers man,” He clapped Ash on the shoulder as he strode past, grabbing his kutte off the back of his empty chair.

At no point did it occur to him not to go to Castiel’s aid.

 

***

 

Castiel was undeniably drunk; his bones felt all liquidy and warm and he was giggling at everything. It was just as wonderful as the last time. Except this time he didn’t have to worry about trying to impress some biker asshole that dropped him when he got bored. Gabriel was always telling him how awesome he was and how he could get any guy he wanted, so here he was, getting almost every guy _except_ the one he wanted. No matter; quantity over quality or something like that, right?

The man leaning far too close into his personal space either didn’t notice or care that Castiel wasn’t exactly reciprocating; only that he wasn’t getting pushed away and was allowed to continue assaulting four out of Cas’s five senses. Thankfully taste was missing, though if the guy whose name Castiel hadn’t bothered to remember (Theo or something) had his way, he’d undoubtedly be subjected to that too.

“So,” His breath smelled strongly of whisky, which wasn’t nearly as hot on anyone who wasn’t Dean.  He snaked a fairly beefy arm around Castiel’s shoulders. “What’s a straight-laced looking boy like you doing in a place like this? You do know that it’s a biker bar, right?”

“I can’t say that I noticed, what with all the leather and shitty tattoos.” Even drunk, he couldn’t tone his sarcasm down.

The man looked taken aback by the sudden sass. Castiel didn’t care; he was starting to realise what a bad idea the whole endeavour had been and he wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl into his bed. Or find Dean.

Holy shit, he was pathetic.

“Shitty tattoos? Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you something awesome instead?”

“If you’re referring to your cock, then I’m certain that it won’t be inspiring awe; probably something closer to revulsion.”

There was a beat. Then two. At this point, Castiel was beginning to curse his drunken wit and also the fact that he’d slid into the booth first. He was hemmed in by the man’s body and the only way out was over the damn table, which he wasn’t completely averse to clambering over, but he’d rather wait until it became absolutely necessary.

“That’s quite a smart mouth you have there, pretty boy. I’m sure there’s a much better use for it.” He wrapped a meaty hand around Castiel’s wrist so tight that it actually hurt and began to shuffle gracelessly out of the booth, pulling Castiel behind him.

It was then the panic began to seep in through the cracks of his happy drunk facade. He was going to get raped in a biker bar in Lawrence, Kansas. Needless to say, it wasn’t quite how he’d imagined the night would end.

Castiel twisted in the man’s grip, trying to pry his fingers off him, to no avail. The Neanderthal was far too strong. All he could hope for was to create a big enough scene that someone would come to his aid.

He was busy struggling against being dragged bodily out of his seat and so he didn’t see his rescuer approach the man, stealthily and quickly, revolver suddenly mere inches away from his captor’s face.

“And I’m sure there’s a much better use for my gun than to blow your brains out, but I really can’t think of one right now, so I suggest you _let him the_ _fuck go._ ” Then there was the sound of a gun being cocked and Castiel looked up to the source.

_Dean._

Dean looked every inch the scary hardass biker that Castiel mostly forgot he was; he was wearing his kutte - rather than his usual biker jacket - over a white t-shirt and the outline of his tattoos were visible through the translucent sleeves. Even through the haze of alcohol and annoyance, he was still absolutely beautiful. And terrifying.

Dean’s expression was completely impassive and unblinking, whilst the asshole had completely frozen half way out of the seat, grip already loosening on Castiel’s wrist.

“What the fuck, man?” The noise in the bar  quickly petered out , the rock n’ roll music from the jukebox that was synonymous with the Roadhouse was abruptly absent and then there were at least twenty pairs of eyes on the three of them.

Dean shrugged as if holding a gun to someone’s head in the middle of a crowded bar was a commonplace event – which it probably was, “Usually I’d kick your ass the old-fashioned way, but I’m having what you’d call a rough day. And that blue-eyed douchebag behind you happens to be a close personal friend of mine, so I’d appreciate it if you’d release him from your sweaty grip, otherwise the landlady is going to give me Hell when I redecorate her bar a simply _darling_ shade of ‘fuckwit brains’ red.”

Yep, that was certainly a big enough scene.

 

***

 

“Cas, you fucking child.”

It was the first time that Dean had spoken since they’d left the Roadhouse and now he was giving Castiel the ‘disappointed parent’ routine. He was expecting to be grounded any minute now.

 “Whilst I appreciate the daring rescue and all,” Castiel stopped to flash a quick sarcastic smile that was all teeth as he paced in front of Dean, who was casually leaning against the doorframe of the ‘board room’ in LMC’s Clubhouse.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are? You dismiss me completely a few hours ago and then you come barrelling into the Roadhouse and make such a ridiculous hyper-masculine display that nobody within a couple of states would dare to fucking touch me lest they feel the wrath of Dean-I’m-such-a-badass-biker-hear-me-roar-Winchester and to top it all off you’re now talking to me as if I’m a damned kid! Get fucked!”

He paused for breath, whilst Dean remained stoic and silent. Which irritated him even more. How could the bastard just be so calm? If he’d been sober, he would have been telling himself to shut the Hell up, but he wasn’t and so all sagacity and composure seemed to go out of the window.

The air was heavy and tense by the time Dean heaved a world-weary sigh and wandered over to the big oak table in the centre of the room where Castiel imagined they held circle-jerks about all the illegal shit they were doing, and picked up a stack of papers on top of which was something that looked like a note on a small torn off piece of paper.

“I mean, why have you even brought me here? Why not take me home, or even back to yours?”

“Because I have work to do down here and I’m not leaving you on your own.” Dean replied matter-of-factly over his shoulder as if talking to a child. Again. Did he not learn from the last outburst that it was a bad idea? Or even worse; did he just not give a shit?

“The fuck? Who gave you the damned right? I’m not just some piece of ass you own! You know, I’ve put up with all this shit-“

Dean threw the papers back down onto the table, a couple of sheets falling to the floor as he spun round sharply, facing Castiel again. “What shit, Cas? What shit have you had to deal with, cause in all honesty the last week and a bit has been smooth sailing compared to the shit storm that’s about to hit.”

“Smooth? Dean, you shot a man’s kneecaps off! Every morning you come to this fucking bunker and have a meeting with your buddies – you must be doing enough unsavoury shit to warrant a daily fucking catch-up, so God knows what else you’re up to when you’re not with me. Probably nailing anything with a hole and killing anyone who displeases you.”

“No really, Cas. Don’t hold back, tell me what you really think,” Dean muttered sarcastically as he ran a hand through his hair and blew out a heavy breath. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Fine. I will. My problem with you is that you’re an arrogant, stubborn, selfish prick! I have bent over backwards for you; every single time you’ve called I’ve come running and then the one, _the one_ damn time that I need you for a change, you dismiss me with a ridiculous line that you used when you were still trying to impress me!”

Dean raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

In a sudden surge of bravery, Castiel added: “You know what? You can go fuck yourself, Dean Winchester.  I’m too old for this teenage ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ bullshit.”

That was it. He was done. He’d get all emotional once he was home safe and away from Dean Winchester and his crazy life, and though he was almost certain he’d regret all of this in the morning, right now he was so angry that all he could feel was an intense burn thrumming along his veins that could quickly evolve into violence against a stationary object that wouldn’t fight back.  

Maybe he’d take it out on Dean’s bike. That would fucking teach him.

He began making his way towards the metal staircase leading to the exit when Dean called out to his departing back.

“If you’re expecting me to make some grand declaration of undying love or some shit, then maybe it _is_ best you fuck off.”

Castiel spun on his heel, too riled up to simply ignore Dean’s quite frankly ridiculous comment. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Are you that emotionally stunted that you think I want you to be something you’re not? I know what – who – you are. I’m under no illusions, Dean. What bothers me is that you have all the power; I’m always on the damn back foot with you! When you say ‘jump’ I always reply with ‘how high’? I just want you to put as much effort in to this as I feel like I am.”

“I took you to a museum didn’t I?” Dean offered feebly.

Castiel agreed; he did and he knew deep down that it wasn’t something Dean did often, if at all, but all he heard was Balthazar saying the exact same thing several years before. The reasons and experiences were completely different – and sober Castiel would have been able to differentiate – but it didn’t stop drunken Castiel from going for the jugular.

“Oh fuck you! It’s that easy for you is it? You think a museum once in a while is enough to placate me into sleeping with you? ‘Show Castiel some exhibits and he’ll spread his legs like a two dollar whore’! You absolute…” He fumbled for the right word to express how angry he was, “Cunt!”

Dean snorted a laugh at the harsh obscenity. Which was the complete opposite of the right thing to do.

“Alright Cas, just chill out.” He held up his hands in a pacifying gesture as one might do to a rabid dog. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Castiel considered this for a _very_ brief moment, before swinging his right fist so that it connected with Dean’s cheek, sending him stumbling backwards into the table.

“Oh,” He said in mock surprise, closing the gap between them and gripping the leather of Dean’s kutte in his fists. “Did my fist in your face help you to remember that I’m not a goddamn child who needs your 24 hour protection? Did it remind you that I’m a 30-year-old man who puts up with your bullshit because I want to, not because I have to and therefore am free to walk away from you any time I choose?”

“I-“

“Shut the fuck up Dean,” And then he was attacking Dean’s mouth, kissing him messy and wet, tongue thrusting in deep as he placed his hand squarely on Dean’s chest and pushed him firmly until he was on the table, propped up on his elbows, Castiel standing between his spread legs.

The awkward angle was what finally broke the kiss, both of them panting, chests heaving. Castiel didn’t waste any time, reaching up to undo Dean’s belt buckle and jeans button. Dean’s heavy gaze was on him, silently watching every move Cas made, barely disguised desire making his gorgeous green eyes almost black. He lifted his hips at the insistence of Cas’s nimble fingers, letting him peel his jeans down his legs and off completely, tossing them over a nearby chair that may well have been Bobby’s.

“Really?” Dean panted as Castiel kissed and nipped his way up his legs towards the juncture of his hip and thigh. “We’re gonna do this here?”

Castiel mumbled his assent into the heated skin of Dean’s thigh.

“Jesus,” Dean moaned as Cas placed his hands on his hips, holding him still before gently suckling the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth. “Cas I don’t have anything. No lube-“

Castiel lifted his mouth off Dean and met his eyes. “What don’t you understand about ‘Shut the fuck up Dean’?”

For a split second, the only sound in the room was the audible click of Dean’s throat as he swallowed hard.

Cas had to force himself to take a move away so he could unbuckle his own jeans, making sure to maintain eye contact with the attractive, almost naked man spread out for his viewing pleasure. He wished he could have the sight permanently burned into the backs of his eyelids as he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his eyes closed if he did. The man was stunning, no two ways about it.

He toed his shoes off and pushed his jeans and boxers down far enough to step out of them. Now half naked as well, he climbed gracefully onto the table, crawling up the left side of Dean’s body, dipping his head to suck a hickey onto the skin over his hip bone.

“You’re a fucking bastard you know that, right?” Castiel muttered, running his thumb over the head of Dean’s swollen cock.

“It has been said,” Dean groaned, letting his head fall back, eyes closed. “Though it’s a little difficult to take you seriously when you have my dick in your hand.”

Castiel ignored him in favour of spitting into his palm and began to jerk Dean off in earnest, relishing the low growl that escaped from Dean’s throat as he got his cock as slicked up as he could in the lubeless circumstances. He removed his hand and swung his leg over Dean’s hips, a knee either side of Dean’s legs, straddling him and then he was reaching behind himself to hold Dean’s cock steady whilst he slowly lowered himself onto him, a low gasp escaping from his lips.

The feeling of Dean fully seated inside him was one that would never get old as far as Castiel was concerned. He could feel the blush that was high on his cheeks from exertion and when he looked down at Dean, he wasn’t faring much better; lips swollen and red from the frantic kisses, cheeks stained a pretty pink and he was shaking slightly from the effort of holding himself back from fucking up into Castiel like he was so obviously desperate to do.

Castiel rested his hands on Dean’s still-clothed chest and clenched his jaw. The burn was already fading away, so he lifted himself up an inch or two before easing back down. He repeated the motion, enjoying the breathy moan from the man beneath him.

Dean was still propped up on his elbows, and Castiel noticed his gaze flicking down to where they were intimately joined before he looked back up at him, eyes half-lidded and his lower lip pulled between his teeth. That sight alone was enough to make Cas take a deep breath and steady himself; he was trying to prove a point - though what it was, he couldn’t quite remember anymore. Couldn’t think of anything beyond the feeling of Dean’s hips against his ass, Dean’s eyes roaming his body, Dean… just _Dean_ –  it wouldn’t do to be coming this early.

Cas began to rock gently, angling his hips until Dean found the magic spot that never failed to make him cry out and Dean to thrust in harder.

“Oh fuck, Dean!”

Dean slammed into him as hard as he could, the angle perfect for nailing Castiel’s prostate over and over again. Castiel’s thigh muscles were burning with the effort of riding Dean and he could feel sweat dribbling down his back as the beginnings of his orgasm started to creep up on him.

Thankfully he wasn’t the only one.

“Cas, Cas.. Please tell me you’re close…”

Castiel nodded breathlessly, certain that if he tried to speak, his words would be far from coherent.

“Touch yourself Cas,”

He obeyed, still rocking back and forth faster and harder, grinding down as Dean thrust up, until he felt himself start to come undone, the familiar sensation pooling low in his belly.

“Dean,” He whined, drawing it out over several syllables as he came over his own hand, not stopping his motions until Dean joined him in his orgasm an instant later on a loud moan.

Cas saw the quick flicker of a familiar grin before he collapsed on top of Dean, sealing their mess between their two stomachs, panting heavily and determined not to move for a least an hour or until things got too gross. Whichever came last.

“Got that out of your system?” Dean’s voice was thick with barely abating pleasure and a small spark of amusement.

Castiel lifted his head to look at Dean in the eyes. “Yeah. Maybe we should fight more often.”


	9. Chapter Eight - Bad Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a song by Bad Company.

 

Castiel did not awake gently the next morning. It was more of a sudden, hostile jolt back into reality from the rather pleasant dream about Buster; his childhood puppy that had to be put down when the asshole next door backed over him.

He felt like shit; his tongue was furry and too big for his mouth and someone must have cracked him over the head with something blunt and heavy ‘cause his brain was _pulsing._ For a moment he just lay completely still, opting not to even twitch a muscle in case it caused some kind of spasm that resulted in his brain getting squeezed out of his ears or something.

It was no use; the throbbing just wasn’t going away, so he blinked his eyes open.

And straight away wished he hadn’t. He screwed them shut and took a deep, calming breath.

The second time around wasn’t much better, but at least he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to give the room a cursory glance in the hopes of ascertaining where he was, ‘cause it sure-as-shit wasn’t his place or Dean’s. The walls were sparsely decorated with posters pulled out of magazines depicting half-naked women draped over expensive cars and/or bikes; and on top of the one and only other piece of furniture – a chest of drawers – there was a digital clock which displayed the time as being 10:52, and a glass of water.

The penny dropped.

_The bunker._

And that was when there was an almighty crash and more than a couple of raised voices shouting obscenities.

_What the actual- … Dean._

He scrambled out of the bed, urgently searching for something to wear along with his dark boxer-briefs to make himself decent, when his eyes landed back on the dresser. He crossed the room in a couple of strides and pulled open the top drawer. Empty. He gained the same results with the next two down until he reached the last one. There was a folded black t-shirt and when he lifted it out, he saw what looked like the same stack of papers that had been on the boardroom table last night concealed underneath.

Balling the t-shirt up in one hand, he picked up the piece of paper at the top of the pile; the printer ink was smudged from where it had probably stuck to Dean’s back with sweat during their amorous activities, but the print was still legible. It looked like some kind of bank statement and the two most recent transactions were highlighted.

**Crowley, Fergus.**

**Primary Bank Account No: 5336-8435-666**

**Balance Transfers since 03-23-13: 37**

**Show Balance Transfers:**

-          **ZADLER 04-18-13: + $10,000**

-          **ZADLER 04-11-13: + $10,000**

Castiel frowned. He had no idea what any of it meant other than the dates of the transactions, the first of  which had been the night Dean had called him and taken him to the diner and then, yeah…

The second was exactly a week later.

_What the Hell is Dean up to?_

Another loud clatter reminded Castiel that he needed to get a move on and find out what on Earth was going on beyond the door; the voices were getting louder and more frantic and at least one sounded like it could be Dean.

He dropped the sheet of paper back into the drawer, kicked it shut and tugged the shirt over his head –  it was a bit too large across the chest and arms, but otherwise fit quite nicely – and yanked the bedroom door open, ready to investigate the commotion.

What he was greeted with wasn’t quite what he had been expecting.

Sam was frenziedly grabbing heavy Law tomes off shelves and slamming them down onto the boardroom table, shouting; “You can’t do this, you’ve absolutely no proof! It states in Kansas vs. Thompson that-”

The one he was pretty sure was called Bobby was on the phone, gesticulating wildly in the air, “Well you saw him, what happened? You didn’t see him come back, did you-”

A couple of others that Castiel vaguely recognised as club members were busy milling about, escorting police officers around the bunker and one with a bizarre mullet-type haircut was furiously typing away on a laptop.

And there, in the middle of it all – dressed only in a pair of jeans that were incredibly low on his hips and hands cuffed behind his naked back, cocky grin in place – was Dean, who winked lasciviously when he caught sight of Cas.

“Morning babe. You look good in my shirt.”

 

***

Dean had been wrong about yesterday being a rough day. Now sitting at the police station, cuffed to a table with murder charges at his feet, he realised that today was so much worse. His back was aching like a sonofabitch thanks to the previous night’s activities on the Club’s boardroom table and his cheek was sore and beginning to bruise from where Cas had punched him.

_Worth it._

Cas had been utterly beside himself that morning when he’d learned why he was standing next to a cop with his hands cuffed. Sadly not in a kinky way; though Dean would be lying if he said that seeing Cas and cuffs in the same room hadn’t given him some awesome roleplaying ideas. 

He was being held on suspicion of the murder of one Theo Brocklebank, who was apparently the dude Dean had threatened in the Roadhouse last night for attempting to sexually assault Cas.

There was no way that they could pin it on him; sure there were enough witnesses who saw him _threaten_ the guy, but he’d been long gone by the time Theo was dead. Cas was his alibi and his colt revolver was the only thing he carried most of the time and it was a pretty damned unique gun. There was no way that the ballistics could even be close to matching up.

No, it wasn’t the cops Dean was worried about; it was the dead guys crew. He was pretty certain that he’d caught sight of a Wendigos MC patch on his kutte last night and if that was the case, it wouldn’t matter once Dean was proven innocent, retaliation would already be at the forefront of their minds; The WMC weren’t known for fucking around when it came to revenge.

Which would mean that his house and the bunker would be prime targets. His family and _Cas_ would be prime fucking targets.

The door to the small interrogation room clicked open and in strolled another cop with an open manila folder balanced on his forearm. Dean was sure he’d spoken to this one before, but he wasn’t on the payroll like the one who’d picked him up had been - which he was extremely thankful for as it meant that he'd at least been allowed to put some clothes on. Sometimes he swore that Sheriff Mills loved to drag him down to the station on bullshit charges, half naked, just so she and the girls could bring a bit of excitement to their otherwise mundane day.

He could probably have them done for sexual harrassment. He'd be sure to mention it to Sammy when he got home.

“Assault with a deadly weapon, grand larceny, aiding abetting, receiving stolen goods...” The officer trailed off, looking up from the folder.  “Quite a rap sheet, Mr Winchester. Nothing quite as serious as first-degree murder though.”

“Yeah well, you could say that I’m branching out. Exploring new horizons. Variety is the spice of life and all that.”

“You think you’re funny?”

Dean leaned forward in his chair, chained hands resting on the desk. “I think I’m adorable.”

 

***

Castiel was the only one who was freaking out judging by the apathetic looks on the faces of the rest of the Club. There had to be at least twenty men crammed into the relatively small space of the boardroom, leaning against the walls with grim expressions and he couldn’t stop his mind from replaying the events that had taken place a few hours ago in the very spot Sam was now sitting in, legs dangling off the edge of the table.

Well if that wasn’t awkward as fuck.

“Right guys,” Sam exhaled on a sigh. “Sorry to have you all here on such short notice, but this is majorly important. As I’m sure you’ve all figured out by now, Dean isn’t here. And that’s because he’s been arrested on suspicion of murder.”

Castiel had been expecting some kind of outcry, either in defence of Dean or at the very least the idea of a murder, but nope, nothing. None of the men were giving much away.

The scrawny guy with the mullet stood up from his seat to the right of Sam’s legs. “I’ve done a bit of research on the dead guy. Looks like he was a member of the Wendigos MC.”

The room suddenly came alive with chatter, men turning to each other, mumbling and shaking their heads.

Sam held his hand up and the noise died down relatively quickly.  Castiel couldn’t help but wonder if Dean managed to corral the group of scary looking men as masterfully as his brother, ‘cause it was pretty damn hot having that kind of control.

“Dean is innocent. He didn’t kill the guy and we’ve got his alibi, right here.” Sam twisted around and gestured to Castiel and after a brief moment, twenty pairs of eyes settled on him.

_Oh._

“Tell us exactly what happened when Dean showed up at the Roadhouse last night Cas,” Sam prompted gently.

So he told them. Told them what the scumbag had said and tried to do before Dean showed up. In hindsight, Dean had conducted himself rather calmly and fairly. If the situation had been reversed, Castiel quite possibly would have at the very least lamped the guy.

“And then we came back here, had a bit of an argument and um…” He cut himself off, trying to decide on the most diplomatic way of explaining the whole-screwing-your-brother-right-where-you’re-sitting-now-Sam to a roomful of bikers. “Then we went to bed.”

“Rough idea of time?” Someone – could have been anyone – asked.

“Well, we must have left the Roadhouse at about half eleven.”

“Ellen corroborates that,” Bobby added.

“Then it’s what… twenty minutes or so from the Roadhouse to here?” A thin guy with a big nose and a faintly boy bandy-looking haircut piped up.

“Yeah,” Sam confirmed, still looking at Cas. “Did you guys stop anywhere on the way?”

Castiel shook his head.

“Okay, you _both_ came straight down here once you got back?”

“Yeah,” Cas confirmed.

“And then you argued?"

“Yeah, for quite a while I’d say.”

“Hmm,” Sam stroked his chin thoughtfully. “That could prove a sticking point. Not like any neighbours would have heard you from in here.”

“I umm,” The small bearded guy that Dean had mentioned in the tour of the bunker the day previously stepped forward.

 _Fuck._ Had it only been 24 hours since his unorthodox date with Dean? It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Yes, Chuck?” Sam tilted his head questioningly in Chuck’s direction.

“I can confirm the argument. I was staying in one of the rooms.” He turned to one of the guys over near the doorway, with a rather angry expression. “Becky still isn’t talking to me.”

_Shitshitshit. Poor Chuck, must have heard everything._

Sam turned to Castiel with a strange look on his face. “What did you guys argue about by the way? Dean doesn’t do arguments; usually he just walks away. If it’s personal, you don’t have to say. I’m just curious ‘cause it’s so unlike him.”

“Uh, well,” Castiel wasn’t entirely keen on sharing his insecurities with a bunch of strangers who most likely would wonder what it was like to actually _have_ feelings, so he opted for: “I had a creepy guy in a Policeman’s uniform come into the library at closing time yesterday asking me some questions about my relationship with Dean. I tried to talk to Dean about it and he shut me down.” Castiel knew he was blushing. “I was a bit drunk, so I kind of let him have it.”

_In more ways than one._

Sam nodded and then his eyes were wide with what looked like a sudden realisation.

“Chuck!” He swivelled back to face the bearded guy. “The Police Officer Dean spoke to yesterday. He mentioned to me that he hadn’t ever seen him before. Can you remember the name he gave or what he looked like?”

“He didn’t give me a name,” Chuck said apologetically. “But he had grey hair, a kind of grey beard-goatee thing and-“

“Marv,” Castiel cut in. “His name is Marv. He’s the guy who showed up at the library asking questions about me and Dean.”


	10. Chapter Nine - China In Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a song by T'pau.  
> Warnings for character death.

When Dean emerged from the police station a good six hours after he’d been arrested, he exited the double doors with his usual swagger, but stopped dead in his tracks and may have even drooled a little when he caught sight of what was quite possibly the most perfect vision in the world;

Cas, leaning against Dean’s bike, looking like he belonged there – was born to be there – with his aviators reflecting the light from the early evening sun. He had a definite five-o’clock shadow, though in reality, it was probably closer to eight and most importantly, he still had Dean’s shirt on. The shirt that Dean had pretty much forgotten about until he’d found it in the early hours when he was searching for a hiding place for the documents that Ash had printed off, after throwing his and Cas’s spunk covered stuff in the Clubhouse’s washing machine.

It was too small for Dean, clinging to places that weren’t flattering, but on Cas? Maybe a little big in the arms, but not by much and by the time his eyes reached Cas’s toned stomach and ridiculously attractive hipbones, that were _quite visible_ through the clingy fabric, he’d pretty much forgotten about the fit anywhere else.

He looked hotter than Hell.

Cas had to keep the shirt.

“Hello handsome, here to give me a ride?”

Cas flashed a grin. “More like to save your ass from going to jail. As if I had nothing better to do with my Tuesday afternoon than to give you an alibi.”

“Yep,” Dean agreed, taking the short flight of steps down two at a time until he was standing within kissing distance of Cas. “How’d you get my bike here anyway? You didn’t ride it, did you?” He could feel his eyes glaze over at the idea of Cas on his motorbike, all that lean muscle bent over the chrome handlebars, shirt stretched over his back, that tight ass –

“Sam brought me on the back of your bike whilst Benny rode his. They went back together.”

_Damn._

 “Aren’t you gonna thank me, Dean?” Castiel asked with a slight head tilt that looked innocent enough, but in Dean's experience, was far from it.

“Gee thanks Cas,” He smiled sweetly. “I don’t know where I’d be without you. Maybe at home, not facing a murder charge.”

Cas seemed to deliberately ignore the sarcasm. “Just repaying the favour.” He offered casually. “After all, you did _kind of_ save _my_ ass last night.”

“Yeah, and look where _that_ got me,” He groaned. “A punch to the face, a bad back and – I hate to go on about this, but – a damned murder charge.”

Cas pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and looked up through his lashes at Dean. “Yeah, but we did get to have some great angry sex.” He closed the gap between them and looped his arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. “So, y’know.”

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s waist and hauled him closer. “Swings and roundabouts, eh?”

***

“Fuck, I definitely needed one of these.” Dean inhaled the cigarette smoke down into his lungs enjoying the rush that came with the first puff after not smoking in far too long.  He relaxed back in his chair and glanced at each one of the six faces sitting round the table; Bobby was doing a gruffer version of Sam’s own bitchface; Rufus and Benny looked vaguely amused; Garth was worried, if the constant chewing on his bottom lip was any indication and Ash, _good dependable Ash_ was completely indifferent as if today were just like any other.

“So Sammy, lay it on me. What’s gonna happen now?”

A heavy, bored-sounding sigh, then, “You’re clear for the time being, but they are free to haul you back in for questioning at any point. Cas’s alibi should hold up ‘cause he’s respectable; no priors, never even had so much as a parking ticket, so as long as you keep your head down we should be okay.”

Dean nodded. “Awesome.” He blew out another lungful of smoke. “So the question is what the fuck is going on? Was it pure coincidence that the asshole who I confronted in front of an entire bar turned up dead a few hours later?” He gestured to Ash, who opened his laptop and began typing away. “Is it coincidence that Crowley received two large sums from Adler the day that we did that run for the Angels and a week later when his warehouse burned down?”

Ash, apparently having found what he was looking for, turned the laptop around to face the others. Dean didn’t need to look to know what it was; Crowley’s bank statement that he’d glimpsed on paper last night in the midst of the argument with Cas. Which had been bad timing really; if he’d been concentrating on Castiel and his words rather than going through all the ways he was going to string Crowley up in his head, then maybe Cas wouldn’t have gotten so wound up and punched him.

Though, what had followed wasn’t something he wanted to take back. _Ever._

“I’ve learned that coincidences don’t exist,” Benny said, staring at the figures on the computer screen. The others nodded in agreement.

“What happens if it’s a double bluff?” Garth asked, looking from the screen to Dean and back again. “What if someone wants us to not trust Crowley? What if they’re the same ones who killed that guy at the Roadhouse to frame you?”

“It does look an awful lot like someone’s trying to set you and/or the Club up for something Dean.” Sam said, his brow furrowed. “Has Cas told you about Marv yet?”

It was Dean’s turn to frown. “Marv? The cop?”

“He’s not a cop, Dean. He visited Cas too. Tried to get information out of him about you.”

“What? When was this?”

“Yesterday. Not long after he spoke to you. Turned up at library, creeped Cas out a bit I think. Cas said that when he tried to talk to you about it you weren’t interested and that was why you argued.”

_Wait, what?_

He rewound over their conversations from the previous evening trying to find where exactly it was that he’d let Cas down.

**_‘The one damn time that I need you for a change, you dismiss me.’_ **

_Awh, fuck._

“Goddammit,” He muttered, angrily stubbing out his cigarette. He was _such_ an asshole sometimes.

He didn’t need to look at Sam to tell that he thought the same; the tone of his voice did that all by itself.

“Look,” He started with an impatient gesture of his hands. “If anyone was trying to set me up, then don’t you think they’d be doing a better job of it? Sure it’ll probably cause a ruckus between us and the Wendigos, but why would that be any good to anyone, who would benefit from the local gangs – us, Crowley, the WMC – at each other’s throats…” He trailed off when the realisation hit.

It seemed like the rest of the guys cottoned on at roughly the same time. “The Angels.”

“Ash, you gotta find out if that Marv asshole is connected to The Angels somehow.” Sam spoke at the same time as Bobby said;

“We’re gonna have to come up with a plan of some sort, the Wendigos are going to want their pound of flesh.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, waving both of them off. “But can we do that tomorrow? Nothing’s gonna happen between now and then and I need to take a breather, so right now it’s party time.”

Bobby’s disapproving grumble was lost amongst the sounds of chairs scraping across the floor and the loud excitable chatter of a group of men about to get wasted.

“Idjits.”

 

***

“So let me make sure I understand this correctly,” Cas angled his beer bottle towards Dean. He was sitting sideways in Dean’s lap, his lower back against one of the chair’s arm rests, feet dangling off the other. “It’s any excuse for a party? One of you gets arrested and then released, party. One of you gets released from jail, party. One of you just feels like it, party?”

“I think you’re getting the general idea, yeah.” Dean winked, wincing a little thanks to the bruise high on his cheekbone, which Castiel was at least a little proud of. It apparently hadn’t been a weak punch.

They lapsed into a brief comfortable silence, Dean taking a swig of his beer and Castiel watching Sam awkwardly dance with a petite dark-haired lady, a big loving smile on his face.

“Can I ask you something?” Castiel suddenly said, turning his head to face Dean again.

A momentary flash of something unreadable flickered across Dean’s face, before it was replaced with his usual smirk. “No I haven’t had an enlargement. It’s all me baby!”

Castiel fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Uhhuh. Be serious for a moment, please.”

“Wow Cas, it’s been that long that I don’t think I remember how – “

“Dean,” Castiel warned. After last night, the balance in their… _whatever_ had definitely shifted; Dean was different somehow. It seemed like he was deflecting more, using his humour rather than risk being serious in case Cas got too close.

Cas had apparently touched a raw nerve with his drunken rant.

“What’s going on? I mean with the club and stuff? I found some papers in the drawer where your shirt was and then there’s that thing with the non-cop-“

Dean shifted up in the seat, making sure to pull Cas with him. Their faces were closer now and Cas leaned in further, his blue eyes connecting with Dean’s green ones and he could see that they lacked their usual sparkle, instead they appeared duller and filled with concern

_Concern for what?_

 “What? Cas, you can’t just go snooping through people’s stuff, man.”

Castiel pulled away slightly. Dean’s face was serious, probably more so than he’d ever seen him.

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, not really sorry at all, “but it wasn’t much anyway. Just a bank statement for some dude named Freddy or something. A couple of highlighted balance transfers-“

“Freddy?” Dean looked puzzled.

Castiel tussled with his barely-recovering-from-the-worst-hangover-ever brain. “Maybe not Freddy? Something similar though” He offered, with a helpless shrug of his shoulders.

He felt, rather than saw Dean tense.

“Fergus? As in Crowley?”

Castiel clicked his fingers. “Yeah, that’s the one!”

“Cas, you shouldn’t have been looking at that shit.”

“Why not?” Cas frowned. It’s not like Dean had gone to great lengths to hide any of their previous activities, so why now?

_Seriously, what the Hell is going on?_

“Just because, Cas.” He replied impatiently, pushing Castiel’s legs off his and moved forward in the seat, hinting that he wanted to get up, being as Castiel’s body was still mostly over his.

Castiel struggled to stand up, too flabbergasted to really respond in any way other than obedience.

As soon as he was out of the way, Dean was up and walking towards the kitchen, making sure to put some distance between him and Cas.

Castiel got the distinct impression that Dean probably needed a minute to himself; after all he’d been getting shit from all angles over the past couple of days. However, that was most definitely not an option, so of course he followed him.

The music was quieter in the kitchen, which Castiel was silently thankful for as he’d had just about enough of the eclectic mix of dance, metal and rock that seemed to be on a constant loop in Dean’s place.

Dean was looking out the kitchen window and his knuckles were going white from where he was bracing himself against the sink, his whole body drawn tight like a bow. He didn’t move when Castiel approached from the door on the left.

“Cas you cannot get involved in this.” His voice was even, but strained.

“Involved in what?” Castiel asked, frustrated. “I don’t even know what it is! Maybe if you told me, I could help, but that whole strong, silent type bullshit is really grating on my last nerve.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, well maybe if you’d told me about the Marv thing when it actually happened then I could have avoided this morning’s little bullshit parade.”

_What?_

“What?”

Dean turned around. “You heard. Maybe if you’d told me about Marv last night instead of playing burning fucking martyr-“ he widened his eyes and stuck his bottom lip out, “Oh yes Dean, no of course I’m not mad at you Dean. I’m gonna let you find out from your brother so you feel totally inadequate Dean’ – then I would have been there, so you wouldn’t have gone out and –“ He ran a hand over his face and slouched back against the sink, looking utterly deflated.

Castiel didn’t risk saying anything, sensing that Dean wasn’t done.

Dean took a deep steadying breath before adding, “Look, I’m sorry that you felt like I dismissed you. We had shit going on here and I was gonna phone you back once things were sorted. But I didn’t know, Cas. I’m not a mind-reader.”

“It’s okay,” Castiel said instantly. Mostly because it was.

Dean looked at him then and huffed out a small laugh. “I’m new to this, man. _All_ of this. It feels like shit is hitting the fan and then there’s _you_ -“ He stopped himself. “I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

Castiel cautiously made his way to Dean, giving him plenty of time to run and hide if he needed to. Instead he reached out and pulled Cas tight against his body and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Castiel slid his arms around Dean’s waist, burying his face in the warm skin of his neck.

“If we’re gonna do this Cas, you gotta be honest with me.”

“It works both ways, y’know.” His voice was muffled against Dean’s skin, but he was reluctant to pull away, at least for another second or two.

He felt Dean sigh. “Yeah,”

Castiel waited for a couple more moments before pulling back to look at Dean’s face. He was clearly anxious and it was setting Castiel on edge, knowing that the usually cocky, smartass was worried.

“What do those bank statements have to do with Marv?” He asked in a quiet voice.

There was a brief pause before Dean replied, “Can I tell you tomorrow? Can we not just enjoy tonight? I’m kinda tired of arguing.”

“Okay. Tomorrow.” He conceded.  “Do you wanna –”

“Dean! Dean!” Chuck appeared in the kitchen doorway, breathless and his face the very picture of panic.

Castiel stepped out of Dean’s grasp, but didn’t go far, opting to hover by his side.

“Dean, the Wendigos are on their way here! Ash just phoned me from the store, he went out to get some beers and about 8 or 9 zoomed past!”

“Fuck.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s bicep and steered him towards the back door. “Get to the bunker and fucking stay there.” He turned his gaze on the wheezing, fidgety man. “Chuck, get all family members down to the bunker NOW.”

Chuck scampered off, leaving Dean and Castiel alone again.

“Dean-“

“Cas, you know how much I enjoy it when you put yourself in deliberate danger, but for fucking once just listen to me and do as I ask.”

Castiel visibly recoiled, trying to pry Dean’s fingers off his arm. “I’m pretty sure we had this discussion last night and-“

It didn’t work. “Castiel, so help me God, I will _knock you the fuck out_ if you don’t do as you’re damn well told! I don’t have time for this shit right now, those guys are after my – and probably yours – blood right now, so just humour me and _do it_.”

Though he spoke the words in a manner depicting relative calm, his eyes were wild and panicked, entire body practically vibrating with nervous energy and for the first time since meeting Dean, Castiel was truly frightened. Not of Dean himself, because he didn’t think he ever could be, despite the tough image he conveyed. No, he was frightened of any situation that had Dean seriously struggling to contain his own freak out. That could never be good.

So Castiel decided to cut him some slack and stow his crap until all this was over.

Then he’d lay into him.

 

***

 

“Malachi,” Dean tried on his most charming smile. Judging by the grim faces of the nine or so members of WMC though, it wasn’t well received.

“Winchester,” The big guy with the President’s patch swung his leg over his bike and took off his helmet. His gaze swept along the line of LMC officers; Benny, Sam and Rufus – Garth and Bobby were down in the bunker looking after the wives and non-club members – and then past Dean to where the rest of the LMC guys were behind them, guns cocked and ready to go.

Malachi’s own men were still straddling their bikes with their guns drawn – easy getaway if things got rough. Which was looking more and more likely by the second.

“Quite the turnout. Were you expecting us?” He removed his leather gloves and slapped them down on the seat of his bike, next to the helmet and pulled his gun from a shoulder holster, turning to Dean, false smile in place.

“We were having a party,” Sam told him. “To celebrate Dean’s _innocence._ ”

Dean felt a surge of affection for his brother so keenly defending him. He hadn’t really been appreciating Sam much lately. If they got out of this alive, he’d be sure to buy him a box of chocolates or whatever it was that chicks like Sam enjoyed.

“Ah yes,” Malachi mused, walking towards Dean, gun in his hand, down by his thigh. “ _Innocence_ is such a broad term. I much prefer naivety. As in, it would be naïve of you to think that you could get away with killing one of my Crew. Theo was my cousin.”

_Fuck._

The rumble of an engine signalled Ash’s return from the store and Dean closed his eyes in agony, just as Malachi turned his head in Ash’s direction.

_Fuckfuckfuck. Ash turn around, please turn around._

“Is this the cavalry?” The WMC leader sounded amused.

Dean remained silent as Ash pulled up about ten feet from where he and Malachi were standing, jumped off his bike and stood on Dean’s right and Malachi’s left, freezing when the WMC President turned to face him.

“So,” Malachi swung his gun up to aim at Ash’s head. “Is this one a family member? Close friend?”

Ash, to his credit didn’t even flinch, just stood impassively staring at Malachi and the gun.

“He’s a good friend.” Dean hissed through gritted teeth. “And also nothing to do with what went down last night.”

Malachi shrugged at Dean and then turned back to Ash. He cocked his gun. “Makes no difference to me.”

Dean flinched, panic rising, clawing at his fucking soul. He raised his gun to Malachi’s head. “You shoot him, I shoot you.”

“Yes, yes.” Malachi waved his free hand dismissively. “Then my men shoot you, it’s all terribly boring and predictable, but que sera, sera.”

“He didn’t do anything!” Sam cried.

“Malachi! Don’t!” Dean thumbed the hammer back on his revolver.

“An eye for an eye, Winchester.”

Then Malachi pulled the trigger.

 

***

 

Castiel was sitting on the boardroom table next to the wife of Benny – Andrea – a rather beautiful woman who clearly adored her husband, talking about his and Dean’s visit to the museum, when the sound of muffled pops reached inside the bunker.

Bobby and the other gangly one exchanged a look, before Bobby was hoisting himself out of his seat, gun in hand and making his way to the bottom of the stairs.

A couple of the girls that clearly weren’t old ladies were looking as petrified as Castiel felt and one started sobbing.

“Holy shit,” Castiel whispered, the pure fear he felt turning his spine to ice.

Andrea reached her hand out and patted him on the knee.

“It’s okay Castiel,” She soothed. “The boys know what they’re doing. My Benny wouldn’t let anything happen to your Dean. It’s his job to keep him safe.”

_My Dean?_

This was so not what he’d imagined when he’d moved to Lawrence at his Aunt’s insistence of a fresh start. He was expecting to be eating microwavable meals every evening whilst on the phone to Gabe, who would be prattling on in his ear about how he built a tree made out of gerbils or something equally irresponsible and senseless, not hiding out in an old war bunker with what he suspected were mostly hookers, whilst someone he hadn’t even known for two weeks, but supposed that he might potentially love was outside in the middle of some kind of show down.

He turned to Andrea. “How do you deal with this? I mean, this must be hard for you, right? How do you cope?”

She shrugged gracefully, “Love the man, love the club. The rest is easy.”

After a few more minutes – or it could have been hours – there was the low rumbling of engines starting up and when they faded away, so too did the sounds of gunfire until it was completely silent, both outside and inside. Almost eerily so. Castiel felt cold with the realisation that it could mean that Dean and the others were dead.

The bunker door was finally yanked open and Sam staggered in, not bloody or injured – thankfully – just weary looking.

“Sam!” His fiancée – Amelia, Castiel had learned during his time in there – cried, pushing her way through the crowd of women and threw herself up the stairs, onto the gantry and into Sam’s tired arms.

Nobody else said anything.

With Amelia still clinging to him, Sam looked down on the small sea of faces, a wretched expression on his own.

“Who is it Sam?” Bobby asked softly.

“Umm,” Sam looked so unsure of himself. It made Castiel’s heart hurt. “Dean took a bullet to the arm, just a graze I think, Andy got one in the leg,” He paused and took a deep breath. “Umm, Ash. He, err. He didn’t make it. He’s…he’s dead.”

Nobody else said anything.

The silence was deafening.


	11. Chapter Ten - Acquiesce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is an Oasis song.  
> A little bit of angst in this one. Ooh, and porn again. Though it's kinda angsty porn I guess.  
> Once again, thank you to everybody who is viewing, commenting and kudos-ing. 
> 
> You're awesome.

It had been absolute bedlam in the moments, hours and then days following Ash’s death. When Castiel and the others emerged from the bunker after the shootout, his breath had caught in his throat at the sight of bodies, bullets and blood. Dean was grunting with exertion as he lifted the body of Ash into his arms – and his right arm was oozing blood from just below the shoulder – and walked blankly past him into the clubhouse. The others had all been busy moving the six other bodies of what Castiel assumed to be the WMC.

The cops had turned up shortly afterwards, investigating claims from the neighbours about gunfire. Dean had deflected well, despite the dead look in his eyes and ashen face, spinning some bullshit about an impromptu shooting practice.

According to Sam, they had been lucky that the cops who showed up were already in the LMC’s pocket.

Within a few hours of the shootout, things were almost back to normal, save for the absence of Ash and a fire in the backyard with six bodies piled on top of the kindling,  Dean refusing to take them to a crematorium like Ash, because the ‘bastards didn’t deserve it’.

In fact, they’d cleaned the place up so well, that Castiel would have almost thought that nothing had happened.

If it weren’t for Dean.

Castiel stayed with him when he wasn’t at work, but Dean was barely responsive to anything other than strictly business. He was drinking and smoking more than enough, but barely sleeping, instead choosing to sit in his chair reading through the documents over and over again as if trying to see something that he hadn’t the previous 23 times.

One of the worst parts about it all, as far as Cas was concerned, was how depressingly easy Ash’s death had been to cover up; the only official employer he’d had was Ellen and he often slept at the Roadhouse or the bunker, so he had no fixed abode and no paper trail; he had no wife, kids or anybody who would really miss him, other than the Club, and with Garth working at the Crematorium, it had been as simple as finding a day when his trainee wasn’t in and making sure there was suitable time to hold a proper wake.

He went to Ash’s funeral of course – a small ceremony at the crematorium itself – where nobody cried; instead they drank to Ash’s memory until most of them were passed out in pools of their own vomit. A fitting tribute, Rufus had told Cas; Ash’s favourite pastime had been drinking until he was no longer conscious.

Dean had kept his distance from Cas in the three days since Ash’s death, and even at the funeral the day before he’d barely noticed Cas’s existence; a faint pained smile and a press of lips against his temple the only acknowledgment he got.

It was painful in so many ways.

Cas had to do _something_. He couldn’t just let Dean lose himself like this.

***

Bobby was hovering behind him, weight braced on the back of his chair, peering over his shoulder at the documents on The Angels. He hated when people read over his shoulder. It was distracting.

“What.” Dean asked flatly, not really wanting an answer, but he wasn’t so far gone that all social grace escaped him.

“That boy of yours is worried.” Came the gruff reply.

A small pause, then, “I don’t know what you want me to say Bobby.” He flicked over to the next page.

“I want you to say that you’re gonna pull your head outta ya ass and _do_ something!” The chair creaked when Bobby smacked the back of it with his fist. “Ash is dead, and you’re just sitting here! It was _your_ inaction and _your_ inability to be a leader and deal with this shit in the first place that caused his death!”

As if he didn’t have enough guilt.

“I’m well aware that this is my responsibility.” He replied calmly, _too calmly_ , Sam would say. But what the Hell did that even mean?

The way Dean saw it, he could throw things, get angry, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t bring Ash back and arguing with people wasn’t helpful. Looking through Ash’s hard work; now that was doing something constructive. He just couldn’t get why Sam, Benny, Cas, Bobby and anyone else who came down here was so desperate to get him riled up and tear him away from the much needed research.

So what if he’d read through it over thirty times? There had to be something he was missing.

“You’re damn right it is,” Bobby said, grabbing a random sheet of paper from the disorganised mess. “I thought you’d be up to leading this Crew when I handed the Presidency over to you, but apparently I was mistaken.”

“Looks that way.”

Bobby let out a frustrated growl and stalked away from Dean, screwing up the piece of paper and tossing it over his shoulder as he went.

As he was climbing the stairs, Cas opened the door. They both stopped on the gantry, Bobby looking over his shoulder where Dean was taking a long drink directly from the bottle of what looked like whisky.

“You have a go, he won’t listen to me.” Bobby said sadly, and then he was gone, closing the door behind him with a heavy clunk that Dean didn’t even acknowledge.

***

Castiel pulled in a deep breath and descended the metal stairs.

“Dean?” He said, crossing the entry way of the bunker and striding into the boardroom, where Dean was at the head of the table, Ash’s laptop on Dean’s right, steadily humming, papers scattered around it, some over spilling onto the floor.

“Dean,” He repeated, stopping at the opposite end of the table.

Dean didn’t acknowledge him.

_Business as usual then._

“Dean,” He said, more firmly this time.

Dean finally looked up and it felt like a red-hot poker had been lanced straight through Cas’s heart; His usually bright green eyes – the ones he’d fallen for in the store – were hard and the colour of muddy water; his tanned skin seemed so grey and dull; his beautiful soft lips were cracked and chapped. He looked like he’d given up.

Even then, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to think that Dean was anything other than painfully beautiful.

“Jo is making an omelette for Benny and Sam, do you want some?”

Dean pulled what looked like a new pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pushed one between his lips. He patted himself down, searching for a lighter and let out a small noise of annoyance when he realised that it was probably under all the papers somewhere. He began searching, not caring when some more sheets slid onto the floor.

He made a muffled sound of triumph when he found his zippo and then lit up.

Cas, waited patiently for a reply, and when none came he slammed his hands down on the desk, hoping to startle a reaction out of him.

Dean didn’t flinch.

“Dean,” He gritted his teeth. He was not above punching the gorgeous bastard again.

Dean frowned. “When did Sam and Benny get here?”

Castiel straightened up and sighed. “Dean, they never left. They’ve been here the whole time. They wanted to keep an eye on you.”

Dean scoffed, but said nothing, rolling his cigarette between his fingertips.

_Tough love time._

“Okay, that’s quite enough of this bullshit.” He came round the side of the table, advancing on Dean with what he hoped was enough menace to make him realise that he wasn’t fucking around. He stopped next to him and slowly closed the laptop. Dean didn’t blink, just kept staring ahead.

“Dean, it’s time to stop.”

“Fuck off, Cas.” Dean mumbled lazily, no real malice behind it, as he flicked some ash in the vague direction of an ashtray, though more of it ended up on the table. And that was the problem. Castiel could have dealt with it if Dean had shouted, thrown things, lost his cool, but the whole apathy thing was less easy to manage. He _wanted_ Dean to get angry, at least he’d be doing _something_ with his feelings instead of just letting himself get sucked into a vortex of pity and resignation.

“I will do no such thing.” He replied in his sternest librarian voice that he used to hush noisy kids.

“Cas,” Dean said and it almost sounded like pleading. “Just leave me alone, yeah? Give it up and go home or something.”

“Have you learned absolutely nothing from our time together?” Castiel snatched the cigarette from Dean’s fingers, took a drag and then stubbed it out in the ash tray. “I don’t take orders from you.”

Dean didn’t reply, just looked down forlornly at the papers. Castiel felt another painful jab to his heart.

“Come on,” He said, unexpectedly much softer. “I think you need a shower,” He leaned closer so that his lips were brushing against Dean’s ear. “And if you ask me nicely, I’ll even join you.”

He pulled back to gauge Dean’s reaction, hoping that he’d read him right, that he wouldn’t shut down further. It was a risky move. Their relationship or _whatever_ _the Hell it was_ had been built on sexual attraction and lust, so it made sense to offer sex as a comfort now, when nothing else was cutting it

A very weak smile graced Dean’s lips. “Okay, Cas.”

Castiel didn’t think he’d ever smiled wider.

 

***

Cas practically dragged Dean into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind them and then he was a flurry of activity, undressing him, whilst Dean stood impassively, just letting it happen.

“Lift your foot up,” He unlaced Dean’s boot and pulled it off, letting it fall to the tiled floor with a heavy thud. “Now the other one.” His socks soon joined them.

He went to work on his jeans, apparently surprised when he saw that Dean was wearing boxers. Which thinking about it, was kind of unlike him; he always liked to be prepared for action, especially since meeting Castiel.

“Step out,” Castiel ordered from his position crouched at Dean’s feet. He tapped his calf with his fore and middle fingers and Dean obeyed blindly, kicking his jeans and boxers to the right, under the sink.

“Arms up,” Again, Dean did as he was told and Castiel tugged his shirt off and over his head. He stopped momentarily when he caught sight of the bandage covering his bullet wound. He’d pretty much been non-stop fussing over him since he’d seen it yesterday at the shootout.

_Yesterday?_

How many days had it been? Two, Three?

Jesus, he needed to pull himself together.

He reached out to reciprocate, feeling a little off-kilter with him completely naked and Castiel still fully clothed, but his hands were batted away.

“No, I’m taking care of you today.” He tugged back the shower curtain and fiddled with the dials, sticking his hand underneath until he gave a satisfied grunt. “There you go, get in.”

Dean blinked a few times, then stepped into the tub and backed up an inch or two under the spray. The hot water actually felt okay against his back and ass, so he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the water run  over his face.

There was a rustling sound to the right of him, a clacking of a belt and then he felt a hard body touching his, pressing in close against his chest and stomach. Castiel encircled his arms round Dean’s waist and placed a gentle kiss just below Dean’s ear, staying like that until Dean shifted his weight impatiently. Cas took the hint and released him.

“Here,” He felt Castiel reach past him, probably for the shampoo and Dean opened his eyes in time to watch Castiel squirt a blob of green apple gunk into his right hand. He reached up to Dean’s head and pushed his fingers through the hair and began massaging the stuff in.

“I am capable, Cas.” Dean grumbled, but made no effort to stop him.

“I know,” Castiel’s eyes were almost level with his. “But just let me.”

Dean closed his eyes again, enjoying Castiel’s fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp. It felt absolutely awesome. The hands were gone a few seconds later and then there was one on his chest, pushing him gently backwards so that he was fully under the water.

When Castiel was apparently satisfied that the shampoo was all washed out, he gripped Dean’s wrist firmly in his hand and pulled him back towards him.

Dean opened his eyes, blinking the water droplets off his eyelashes. He just about resisted the urge to shake his head like a wet dog.

“I don’t need you mothering me, Cas.”

Castiel dropped his hand. “Tell me what you _do_ need Dean, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Looking at Cas, his blue eyes full of sincerity, his body all toned muscle and flawless damp skin, he knew exactly what he needed – and wanted. His cock was already very much on board, hard and flushed, curving up towards his stomach.

“You,” Dean said, voice scarcely above a whisper. “I need you.”

Dean barely had the time to finish the last word before Castiel’s mouth was latching onto his; tongue desperate and eager. He bit down on Dean’s bottom lip, drawing blood, the spray of the shower washing it away almost instantly.

Completely on autopilot, Dean crowded Cas against the tiled wall of the shower, out of the way of the running water, hoisting him up, arms hooked under Cas’s thighs and Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist. He paused when he realised that they had no lube. Again.

Castiel seemed to sense his hesitation, flexing his fingers against Dean’s tattooed shoulders. “Do it Dean, it’s okay.”

“I can’t hurt you, Cas. I won’t.”

“S’ok Dean, s’ok. Please… I need you.” Cas squirmed in Dean’s arms, angling his hips until the blunt head of Dean’s cock was against his entrance.

“Please, Dean.”

It was that first thrust up in to Cas’s tight heat that finally started to clear the hazy fog from his mind, and for the first time since Ash died, he looked at Cas – really looked at him. Though his blue eyes were clouded with lust, Dean could see the sorrow there, the pain, and mentally it made him cringe.

“Cas,” He breathed. “Cas, I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t care… just fuck me Dean.”

Dean willingly obliged, pounding Cas against the shower wall as he tried to ram up higher and deeper. He moaned loudly when Castiel scratched his blunt nails down Dean’s back hard enough to draw blood.

“Do that again.” Dean panted. “Harder.”

He growled when Cas complied.

The whole thing was fast, violent and desperate, but Dean hadn’t been lying when he said that he needed it, needed _Cas_. Every time their bodies met, Cas let out a little whimper and Dean hadn’t even realised how much he missed _this_ ; being this intimate with someone without it just being sex. It was something that he hadn’t ever experienced before. Not even with Lisa. Castiel already had Dean all mapped out; knew exactly what to do to bring him out of the self-imposed prison of his mind and with every thrust, he could feel the shackles falling away.

Dean’s thrusts sped up, thighs slapping wetly against Castiel’s ass.

“You’re Dean fucking _Winchester_ ,” Castiel gasped, taking Dean’s face in his hands. “You’re made of tougher stuff, baby.”

Dean let out a pained sound, trying to turn his face away, but Castiel wouldn’t let him, warm palms on either cheek, holding him firmly in place, whilst he said what he needed Dean to listen to, not just hear.

“You’re my strong… badass… biker, so I _know_ you can… deal with this and get on with business… because that’s… what you do.” Dean’s hips bucked up hard at Castiel’s words, causing the smaller man to cry out when he was shunted further up the slick tiles.

“I’m not going anywhere... No matter how… _hard, oh God_ … you try to push me away.” One hand moved to twist in Dean’s hair, whilst the other went to his injured bicep, squeezing hard.

He grit his teeth; it hurt like a sonofabitch, but the pain grounded him, made him feel _alive._ His thrusts were growing more and more erratic, and he could feel his orgasm blurring the edges of his consciousness. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on the feeling of Cas around him, against him. He had no doubt that nothing would ever feel as good as Cas ever again.

“Dean,” Castiel keened, his back arching away from the wall. “Dean baby, let it go, let it _all_ go. It’s okay, it’s okay…”

“Fuckkk.”

His orgasm washed over him as he felt Cas getting impossibly tight around his cock, squeezing almost to the point of pain and then Cas was moaning out his own release, releasing his death grip on Dean’s arm as he slowly came down, breathing returning to normal.

“Holy shit,” Cas mumbled, running his thumb across the wetness on Dean’s cheek. He hadn’t realised that he’d been crying, but relief swept over him at finally _feeling_ something. The last few days of self-imposed mental isolation had done a serious number on his brain, but now he was free of the emotionless detachment that had nearly alienated everyone he cared about.

He sagged against Cas, quiet sobs wracking his body. Castiel stroked his fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck, making gentle comforting sounds.

“It’s my fault Cas, it’s all my fucking fault.” He pulled away from Cas’s arms to look at him. His eyes were a fierce bright green, ringed by red. “How am I supposed to live with that?”

Castiel took Dean’s face in his hands again and kissed him, his lips coming away with a smudge of Dean’s blood. “I don’t know,” He admitted. “But I will help you find out.”


	12. Chapter Eleven - Mr. Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a song by Freedom Call.  
> Oooh, the end is nigh!

“So, I got in touch with Crowley last night. We’re going to meet with him again, try and find out what he knows, if he has the same information we do, if he’s aware about the bank statements etcetera…”

Dean trailed off when he realised that nobody appeared to be listening, instead they were all busy staring at him with a range of looks that varied from confused to _very_ confused.

 “What?”

“It’s just –“ Sam rubbed his forehead, a sceptical look on his face. “You were practically comatose yesterday, man. It’s a bit of a gear change seeing you acting so _normal_. What happened?”

Everyone made an equivocal noise of agreement and Dean rolled his eyes.

He sat up straighter in his seat and looked at each of the men individually, lingering on the empty chair next to Rufus. “Look, I’m not okay, but I’m dealing. We need to sort this out before anything else happens. It’s only a matter of time. I’m not gonna get any more blood on my hands. Not anyone who’s a part of _this_ club anyway.”

“But what changed?” Sammy, ever the nosy fucker, asked. “I mean, dude you actually showered? You’re not drunk. And I haven’t seen you smoke at all yet and it’s almost midday. What caused the quick turnaround? And don’t try to bullshit me, ‘cause I know you.”

He cast a weary glance in Bobby’s direction, who looked back, vaguely amused.

“Cas,” Dean sighed, turning to Sam. “Cas helped me. _Is going to continue to_ help me.”

“Oh yeah?” Benny drawled, “And what kind of ‘help’ did he give you that the rest of us couldn’t, hmm?”

“Did you go to a museum again?” Garth asked hopefully and everyone laughed. More at his apparent innocence than at Dean’s expense.

“Last time I took him to a museum he ended up punching me in the face, so excuse me if I think twice before doing that again,” Dean joked back.

“Should’ve known,” Rufus grinned. “That all it would take to bring Dean out of his funk was getting laid, good and proper.”

Dean was pretty sure that it ran deeper than that, but he didn’t correct him.

“I’m not really sure what that says about you as a human being.” Sam muttered archly, “But it’s good to have you back Dean.”

And just like that, things were okay. Or as okay as they were gonna be until they figured out how to deal with the pain of loss and more importantly, get even with the bastards who brought all of this down on them.

***

Cas was sore in places that he hadn’t even realised _could_ get sore as well as some of the standards; his thigh and calf  muscles ached as if he’d just run a marathon; his neck felt as if someone had stepped on it and of course, sitting down in anything other than a severely cushioned chair was causing him discomfort.

But at least Dean was doing okay.

It was a quiet morning in the library; a copy of ‘Angels & Demons’ was brought back and then they took a Koontz, which Castiel had said was one of his better ones, but still fairly average; a couple of kids who Cas suspected were skiving came in around midday and spent their time between the stacks, giggling until one of them announced that it was time to ‘blow this joint’.

Cas wasn’t sure whether they were referring to drugs or something entirely different; either way he couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when they left.

It was only about half an hour later when he heard the familiar rumble of motorbikes coming to a stop outside. He glanced at the clock; his shift wasn’t over for another couple of hours, so why was Dean here? The woman in her mid-twenties who was over by the kids section with a baby in a carrier, visibly froze when she realised what – who – the sound was.

Were Dean and the LMC really that tantamount with violence in Lawrence?

The noise cut off and seconds later, Dean and Sam were striding into the library. Dean’s face was still pallid looking, but his eyes were back to their usual green, shining and alert.

Castiel was perfectly content to call it a win.

Dean stopped in front of the desk – Cas a few inches taller than him for a change due to the platform that it was on.

“Hello Dean,” He said coolly, trying to retain an ounce of decorum and professionalism, resisting the temptation to yank him over the counter and mash their lips together.

“Hey Cas,” He smiled, but it still wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t _Dean._ “I just wanted to check in on you,”

He glanced between the two brothers. Sam shrugged as if to say, ‘Meh, humour him’.

“Okay,” Castiel said slowly, “Well I’m fine. Honestly.”

Dean nodded to himself. “We’re heading out for a meeting, just me and Sammy, so I dunno how late I’ll be back. I err…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Just wanted to let you know.”

Castiel bit his lip to supress a smile. Dean Winchester was being _sweet._ “A phone call wouldn’t have sufficed?”

“We were on our way past to be fair,” Sam clarified. “It was no trouble for us to stop if it meant putting Dean’s mind at rest.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. “You were worried?”

“I may have been mildly concerned.”

Castiel pointed at Dean, ”We are talking about this later. You still haven’t told me what the Hell is going on and if you’re worried for my safety, I deserve to know why.”

Dean waved him off, “Yeah yeah. Just shut up and kiss me so I can get going.”

***

 

This dingy warehouse looked exactly like the last one, except they had ridden in the opposite direction, so there was no feasible way of them being the same place. Obviously Crowley had a soft spot for grimy holes with broken windows and gritty floors.

_What the fuck **is** that?_

The concrete beneath his boots was grainy and coarse and the air smelled like a combination of rotten eggs and cat piss. It had all the makings of a damned Meth lab and judging by Sam’s screwed up face, he was thinking the same thing.

“Hello boys,” Crowley appeared with a couple of goons either side, flanking him. They were dressed up to the nines, arms crossed in front of their bodies, attempting to look as menacing as possible. However, In Dean’s experience, not many people were intimidating when you had a gun in your pocket and your sharpshooter brother at your side.

“Brought some friends Crowley?” Dean jerked his chin at hired thug #1, who grimaced in return.

“Can’t be too careful these days, boys. Don’t know who to trust.” Crowley offered with a disinterested shrug.

Dean sneered. “Yeah, I’m getting that.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “You had a warehouse burn down?”

“No. One of my men killed.”

“ _Three_ of mine died in that blaze.”

“And I bet you can’t name _one_ of them.”

Pause, then, “Touché.”

Another pause. “I heard about your little skirmish with the WMC – Heard that Malachi’s charred bones are in your backyard, Squirrel. That true?”

Dean grinned slyly. “Don’t know what you’re talking about Crowley. _I_ heard that Malachi is on vacation. Somewhere nice and _hot_.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, that’s very clever,” He clapped his hands together slowly, “Because you could be referring to how you disposed of him or your belief that he’s in Hell… You’re good, Dean. Not as stupid as I used to think. Of course, it took you far longer than I expected to work all this out, so you won’t be winning any Nobel prizes soon.”

Sam stepped forward and Crowley’s thugs drew themselves taut, primed for action. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“Oh come on Moose, you’re supposed to be the smart one!” He exhaled heavily as if dealing with them was a chore. “I told you the information about The Angels because they’re up to something.”

“Yeah, we got that far.” Dean said derisively with a roll of his eyes. “But what?”

“They’re in with some pretty powerful people in terms of weaponry. They’re trying to corner the market, push all other gangs out until they’re the sole distributor.”

“Yeah, but we’re hardly a threat, we don’t run nearly as many guns now as we were six months ago.” Dean pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. He wants everyone out of it, including you.”

“He?”

Crowley held up his hand and reached into his pocket, Dean went for his gun before Crowley pulled out a cigarette tin and held it up in the other hand in a placating gesture. “Either of you gentlemen care for a smoke?”

“No,” Dean replied tersely. “I quit.”

Sam turned to him with his eyes wide and head tilted in a question. 

“What?” Dean muttered petulantly, relaxing his hand when Crowley lit up.

“Was that the work of your ‘help’?” He air quoted the last word.

“If you must know every detail of my life, then yes. We quit together.”

Sam laughed, “Oh man, you are so whipped.”

“Boys!” Crowley suddenly shouted. “I hate to interrupt your little tête-à-tête, but we were kind of in the middle of something?”

“Uh yeah,” Dean cleared his throat, shooting a glare in his brother’s direction. “Continue.”

“Thanks,” He muttered sardonically. “It’s Zachariah. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty if he can help it, so I suspect that’s why he set you up. The Wendigos would be their usual predictable selves and come after you. I suppose he was hoping that you’d decimate each other. Save him the job.”

“But the Angels are just a crappy motorcycle gang, there’s no way they can be that powerful.” Sam said, looking to Dean for confirmation. “Right?”

Crowley looked up to the ceiling. “Lord give me strength.” He faced the brothers, an eyebrow raised. “Just like there’s no way you two can actually be this stupid! Oh, except you are! They’re not a _motorcycle gang_ you barely-functioning morons, they’re the _fucking mafia!_ ”

Dean recoiled as if he’d been hit. He honestly hadn’t expected that. The few times that they’d met with The Angels, they’d seemed almost disorganised and definitely a lot more rough and ready than he’d expect Mafiosi to be.

Looks like he really _wasn’t_ all that smart.

Sam clenched his fists and took another step forward. So did Crowley’s men. “And you knew all this and didn’t tell us?”

“You saw what happened when I tried to warn you about them! The burned down my warehouse, thinking that I was inside! I lost hundreds of thousands dollars’ worth of cargo in that fire. Not to mention, some of my best men! I’ve been hiding under a rock for the past few weeks!”

“What about the twenty thousand dollars?” Dean asked steadily, trying to keep his composure. If all Hell broke loose, it most likely would end in him getting another bullet wound and he really couldn’t be assed with that.

Crowley appeared to be genuinely taken aback. There was no way that he was that good of an actor. “What? What are you talking about?” His eyes darted back and forth between the brothers, seeking an explanation.

“We hacked yours and the Angels accounts. There were two transfers from Zach. One on the day that we did the run and you called me and then one on the day your warehouse burned down.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Jesus. He was trying to set me up too?” He stopped and then began muttering to himself, just loud enough for Dean and Sam to hear. “…Make it look like I was helping them so that you’d come after me when they discovered that their little blaze failed to kill me…”

“Sure looks that way.” Dean agreed.  “He wanted all three gangs to annihilate each other in some big prize fight.”

“So what now?” Sam asked nobody in particular. “They’ve gonna know soon after we leave here that two out of their three targets are still standing. That mean they’re gonna come for us?”

“Or anyone you care about.” Crowley added with a smile that made Dean feel nauseous.

“Fuck. We’ve gotta get back. Now.”

Sam nodded quickly.

They were already half way to their bikes, Dean’s heart pounding, thoughts racing a mile a minute, when Crowley called out, “Before you disappear boys,”

“What?” Dean asked, but didn’t stop.

“About our little deal…” Crowley was a good ten feet behind them, his thugs traipsing behind.

Sam scoffed and turned to look over his shoulder. “You cannot be serious, Crowley.”

“Oh I’m very serious. We had a deal. I gave you solid info on the Angels and your end was that you had to a do a drugs run for me.”

The brothers reached their bikes. “But now? No chance, we’ve gotta get back. I’m not losing anyone else.” Dean said angrily.

“Yes, you’re going to do it as soon as possible. As in now. I may not survive this, but these drugs have to get to where they’re going. I honour my promises.” He dropped the remains of his cigarette onto the concrete and ground it underfoot.

“No.” Dean said firmly, straddling his bike. “No fucking way Crowley.”

Crowley stopped at the handlebars of Dean’s Thunderbird. “Oh, I think you will. Because I have information on you boys, your girlfriends, wives, _boyfriends_ ” he looked pointedly at Dean. “That sort of thing. I could always use a bargaining chip with the Angels. They may not kill me if I help them snag the LMC. After all, you’ve proven to be quite the bee in their bonnet, what with your refusal to simply lay down and _die_.”

Dean turned to Sam, who shrugged helplessly. “What choice do we have?”

Dean could think of a few that involved Crowley’s head on a stick, but with his goons nearby, there wasn’t a massively high chance that they’d come out of another fight unharmed. And they needed all the strength they could get for The Angels.

Dean gave Crowley a look that most people would be nervous about being on the receiving end of, but Crowley merely smiled, all teeth.

“Fine,” He snarled.

“Splendid! I’ll tell my men to get the van ready; it’ll only take the two of you. You’ll be home sweet home in no time.”

***

Castiel really needed to change that damn ringtone. People looked at him funny. When Dean had been in one of his more ‘creative’ moods, he’d changed his personal tone to a song by Kiss that Cas was unfamiliar with, but he was certainly well acquainted with the lyrics by now.

_‘I look at you and my blood boils hot, I feel my temperature rise. I want it all –‘_

“Hello Dean,”

“Cas,” Came the breathless frantic reply at the other end of the phone. “Have you finished work?”

He’d just been about to lock the doors a bit earlier than usual; nobody ever seemed to come into the library at five on a Saturday afternoon, but yet, during the week when they were open until nine, people would often come rushing in, apparently in dire need of some Austen.

“Just about to, why – what’s happened?”

“Adam’s outside, we left him there earlier, he’s gonna escort you home okay? Pick up whatever you need for a couple of nights and go back to mine. Most of the guys will be there and so will Andrea, Ellen, Amelia and the others.”

Castiel hesitated, not really wanting to give Dean a hard time when he was only just repairing himself, but there was no way that he was gonna let _that_ slide.

“You left a prospect to keep watch outside my work? Do you ever listen to me? Or am I just white noise? Am I Charlie Brown’s teacher to you Dean?”

“Oh Jesus,” Dean muttered. “Can we go one day without fighting?”

“Not when you continue to be an asshole!”

He heard Dean sigh. “Cas, it’s for your safety. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because you don’t tell me fuck all Dean, how am I supposed to ever be able to have a fucking hope of looking after myself, when I don’t know what to look out for?”

“We can talk about this later.”

“It’s always later with you though isn’t it? And then there’s another goddamn earth-shattering event and I never find out!”

“Jesus fucking Christ Cas, you’re like my wife or something. Except you can’t cook for shit.”

“Oh go screw yourself!”

“Cas-“

Castiel hung up, tossing his phone down onto the desk. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and took a deep breath. Dean would undoubtedly ring back in a minute and he needed to calm himself before he lost his cool even more. It was possible that he _may_ have been overreacting just a _teensy_ bit due to the lack of nicotine, but _seriously?_ Could Dean _really_ not see why he was mad? He didn’t need some kid keeping an eye on him when he was trying to go about his daily business; he was a goddamn adult! Not to mention the fact that some law-abiding citizen might assume that an LMC member hanging around the library was up to no good. If they reported it to his boss, he could end up getting fired for fucks sake!

It was absolute insanity; he couldn’t be expected to live the rest of his life like this, could he? Would he do it just for the chance to be with Dean?

_‘I look at you and my –‘_

“What?”

“Just go with Adam. Please. It’s important that you do this. You can bitch about it to me later all you want, but just go now.” Dean sounded serious.

“Fucking fine, but if you think that you’re not gonna get _at least_ a black eye for this then you’re very much mistaken.” He was only half-joking.

There was the sound of muffled laughter and then Dean said, “There’s my Cas. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Stay out of trouble.”

“I’m making no promises.”


	13. Chapter Twelve - In Flames You Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a Dream Evil song.  
> Bit of a Cas-central chapter this time!

The up side of the 163 mile ride back from fucking _Wichita_ , which was where Crowley – the bastard – had sent them on the drugs run, was that Dean finally had a moment to himself; had plenty of time to work through some shit in his head. Sam was slightly behind him to the left on his Harley Dyna – a bike that Dean had briefly considered, but as soon as he saw the Triumph Thunderbird – just like with his Impala – he had fallen immediately in love. He apparently had a habit of falling in love at first sight.

Thankfully, the drop had gone off without a hitch, though the creepy guy in the green shirt named Nick had eyed Sammy up like he was his every desire rolled into one and it had taken Dean a lot of effort not to punch the guy. If Crowley didn’t have them by the short and curlies, he probably would have done that and even worse.

Dean was struggling to shake what Crowley had said about the Angels being old school organised crime. His time in prison was something that he very rarely spoke about, eager to forget it and leave it where it belonged – in the past. But with Crowley’s mention of the Mafia, he couldn’t help but be reminded of Alistair; one of their best hitmen.

The man had made Dean’s life a literal Hell for the entire four years of his sentence; stuff that he wouldn’t ever tell a soul about. Problem was that towards the end, he had been starting to think about taking Alistair up on his almost daily repeated offer and if he hadn’t have been granted parole when he had – and instead ended up serving the full 7 years of his sentence – he would have certainly caved and become his ‘student’. Just to be free of the torture.

The only reason why he wasn’t in a serious tailspin right now was because as far as he was aware, the crazy fucker was still inside serving a fifteen year sentence, but even so, it had caused a second of pure terror in Dean’s heart.

He hoped with his entire mind, body and soul that he was right about Alistair still being inside.

It was only as they were turning onto the end of the road his house was on, that he was jolted out of his reverie when he saw two unfamiliar bikes pulling into his long driveway.

He nodded at Sam who returned the gesture and Dean yanked his revolver from underneath his jacket, Sam doing the same with his pistol and then they were pulling their bikes to the side of the road, jumping off and sprinting down the sidewalk towards his house and the assholes who were most likely about to attempt to shoot it up.

***

Castiel was sat reading a dog-eared copy of Salem’s Lot, curled up on the bed he’d gotten accustomed to using in the Clubhouse when they stayed there – despite Dean’s rather large house being mere feet away – when the bunker suddenly came to life.

He tucked the piece of card he’d been using as bookmark between the pages – he’d never be so disrespectful as to turn down the corner – and slid off the bed to make his way cautiously over to the door.

There was muffled shouting and just as he was trying to decipher whether it was friendly or not, the door was suddenly forced open just a crack.

“Cas?” Adam’s face poked round the side of the doorframe. “It’s okay, we’ve just got a couple of Wendigo guys looking for you and Dean. Just stay here, it’ll be fine. Benny and Bobby are taking care of it.” And then he was gone, firmly closing the door behind him.

_Holy shit._

Was there ever a day when shit wasn’t going sideways?

He stood there for a while, lingering, trying to decide what the best course of action would be. His conscience wouldn’t let him just stay hidden whilst the others were out there risking their lives by guarding him. On the other hand, if anything happened to him, he was under the impression that Dean would actually _skin_ the person or people responsible. He couldn’t deal with having that on his shoulders.

But at this point – intertwined with Dean so closely – would it even make a difference? There was already technically blood on his hands in the form of that Theo guy, and undoubtedly there would be more occasions where Dean shot and/ or killed someone for whatever reason. He wasn’t going to be walking away from Dean any time soon, so in reality it really was a case of ‘put up and shut up’ or as Andrea had said, ‘ _Love the man, love the Club.’_

There was a baseball bat that he’d discovered Dean kept under the bed – after some change that he’d dropped a few days previously had rolled under there – and so he went for it now.

Jesus fucking Christ, he was really going to do this.

He gripped the doorknob in his one hand, the bat in the other and paused for a moment as he sent a silent prayer to any entity that may exist for him not to die, then he yanked the door open and he was out into the hallway. He edged along the short corridor as slowly as humanly possible, both hands gripped tightly around the baseball bat, raised ready to swing, looking both ways in case someone crept up on him.

He soon realised that he probably should have changed first; baggy sweatpants, bare feet, glasses and a naked torso did not a hero make, but if he turned back now he may not work up the nerve again.

When the gunshots sounded from outside, he discernibly flinched and pushed himself tightly back against the wall. He tightened his grip on the bat until his knuckles went white and he swallowed hard. This was so _not_ gonna end well.

The door to the bunker was flung open and then he could hear multiple sets of boots on the metal gantry and then the stairs. From this angle, he couldn’t see who they were, but none of the other guys were in sight, so he assumed the worst.

He made his way towards the kitchen where the voices seemed to be getting louder; his heart was pounding in his chest furiously, and he wasn’t quite sure how crazy he must be, thinking that he could take on fuck knows how many professional criminals – who each probably had multiple weapons – with nothing more than a prayer and a baseball bat.

Why the Hell did Dean have a baseball bat anyway? And under a bed that he very rarely used?

Actually, he wasn’t sure that he wanted an answer to that.

As he neared the kitchen, he could hear the voices more clearly.

He was pretty sure – and thankful – that one of them was Benny.

“…Just as well you boys showed up when you did…scared them off… could’ve been worse…”

“…Yeah, they were just pulling into here when we were coming down the road. What did they want anyway?” The other was apparently Sam.

_Where the Hell is Dean?_

“They wanted your brother. And Castiel.”

Another voice joined in as Cas rounded the corner.

“The Wendigos came for Cas? Jesus fucking Christ.”

Castiel lowered the bat slightly. _Dean?_

He had his back to him – biker jacket tight across his broad shoulders, sandy hair windswept – talking to Benny, whose eyes widened when he saw Castiel – probably because he looked somewhat insane; wild-eyed, half naked and wielding a weapon.

Dean turned around to see what had Benny spooked and instantly froze. He threw his hands up in surrender. “Woah Cas! I know you joked about giving me another black eye, but Jesus!”

Dean stumbled when Cas threw himself into his strong arms, the forgotten bat clattering to the floor and he inhaled the familiar scent of _Dean._ Though the leather was cold against his bare chest, he didn’t pull away and when Dean’s arms went around him, holding him tighter, Cas let out a shaky breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Mhm.” Castiel mumbled into the collar of his jacket. “You’re a bastard.”

“I’m beginning to get that.”

***

 

When Cas woke up a good few hours later – with Dean’s face pushed into the curved hollow of his throat, his tattooed arm draped across his chest and his leg secured between Cas’s thighs – Cas’s first thought was how similar it was to cuddling, which Dean Winchester _apparently_ did not do. The second thought was how desperately he needed to piss and not only was Dean a cuddler, but he was a damned octopus cuddler – the worst kind; at least in Cas’s experience. Every time he attempted to move, Dean relocated with him, limbs tightening around him incrementally.

Goddammit.

“Dean… I’ve gotta get up.” He tried softly.

“Nooo,” Dean mumbled, slowly beginning to rub his morning hard on against Cas’s hip.

As nice as it was, and as much as he’d love to help Dean out, he _really_ needed the bathroom. “Please? Don’t you have a meeting anyway in a bit?”

“You have the wrong person; don’t know what you’re talking about.” Came the muffled reply.

Castiel smiled. Was all the bullshit that they’d been through in the last few weeks worth even a few seconds of this?

The answer was an unequivocal yes.

However, as beautiful and romantic as that sentiment was, it still wasn’t getting the bastard off him.

“Dean if you don’t get off me right now then I will actually piss on you.”

“Kinky.”

Castiel laughed. He couldn’t help it. And it felt so good; it had been forever since he’d last properly laughed. Or had anything to really laugh about. “Get off me you fat bastard.”

Dean looked at him then. He was beginning to resemble _Dean_ again; his skin was clear and no longer pale and his cocky smirk was back, though it quickly turned to a look of hurt. “You think I’m fat?”

Castiel pretended to think it over, “Well… You do eat a lot of pie…”

“Still managed to lift your heavy ass in the shower. _And_ when you fainted like a little girl. Can’t be _that_ out of shape.”

Jesus. He’d forgotten about that. Would he still faint now? The scary answer was that he was certain he wouldn’t; instead he’d probably go inside to get Dean a pint and tell him not to be too long.

That was actually pretty frightening; how accustomed to violence he’d become in just a few short weeks.

_And Balthazar thought I was dull._

“That’s what I thought,” Dean grinned and resumed his octopussing, pushing his face into the crook of Cas’s neck.

“Dean!”

He felt Dean huff out a laugh against his collar bone. “Fiiiiine, I’m up.” He rolled off of Cas, tucking an arm underneath his head and turned to look at the other man.

Castiel mirrored his position, lying flat on his back with his face turned towards Dean. He smiled warmly back at him. “I’m glad you’re yourself again. You had me worried for a while.”

Dean’s face fell a little. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Was selfish of me.”

Castiel moved his hand up to grip the back of Dean’s head, and pulled him closer until their noses were touching and he was going cross-eyed trying to look at him. “Dean Winchester, one thing you _aren’t_ is selfish.”

Dean didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m serious.” Castiel kissed his lips. “Now get up before Sam comes in and has to deal with seeing you naked.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Again.”

***

By the time he emerged from the bathroom after having had his shower, Dean was nowhere to be seen, and when Cas looked at the clock on the dresser he saw that it was 10:28 – The LMC’s meeting had already started, so at least he knew where Dean had disappeared off to. For a damned change.

He was just pulling on his jeans when his phone rang with a tone that definitely wasn’t Gabriel (Candyman by Aqua) or that God awful Kiss song. Instead it was the standard jingle that came with the phone and when he looked, it was his boss, Mr White.

He frowned and swiped his finger across the screen to answer.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Castiel!” Mr White sounded unusually jovial.

“How can I help?” The library wasn’t even open on Sundays, so why would his boss be calling? Unless, somebody really _had_ reported Adam outside the place all day yesterday. He was going to lose his shit at Dean if that was the case.

“Ah well, the library alarm is going off and usually I’d try to get there, but my wife and I are in Kansas City for the weekend.”

_Oh._

“Oh, I see. Do you want me to go down and switch it off?”

Mr White sounded overwhelmingly relieved. “Would you? I know it’s your day off, but it won’t take five minutes.”

“Of course.” He was already wrenching on his boots and making sure he had his keys to the library before he even ended the phonecall.

“Thanks Castiel. You’re a great help.”

The meeting that Dean and the others were in was rare because _everyone_ was in attendance – It looked like they were gearing up for something big, though as usual Cas was totally in the dark, he and Dean not having talked the previous night, just falling into bed together; too emotionally drained to do anything other than a quick make out session – so he was certain that he could escape from the bunker undetected as long as the sliding doors to the boardroom were closed.

So naturally they were wide fucking open.

“Hey! Where the Hell do you think you’re going?”

_Fucking really?_

Dean was standing up at the head of the table, looking at him like a stern parent who’d just caught their teenage daughter sneaking out at 1AM to some fucking party or some shit. He was gonna have to stop talking to Cas like this or they were gonna have a _serious_ falling out that may involve a crowbar being taken to his bike.

All eyes were on him and Castiel fought for composure, not wanting to come across like the psychotic girlfriend in front of _everyone_.

“Out.”

Dean gave him a look. “Oh real fucking mature Cas. You know you can’t leave right now. It’s too dangerous at the moment.”

The eyes of nearly 30 men were batting back and forth between them like they were watching a tennis match.

He tried for reason. “I’ll be about twenty minutes – if that. I’m just going to the library.”

“I don’t think you’re hearing me –“

“No.” Castiel snapped, all patience gone. “I don’t think you’re hearing _me_ Dean Winchester. I am _going to the fucking library. I won’t be long._ Mmkay?”

The sound of sniggers and murmurs of ‘Ooooh, you’re in trouble now Dean’ almost made Castiel smile. Almost. But he kept his eyes locked onto Deans, refusing to back down.

After a few moments of a tense staring match, Dean clenched his jaw and finally looked away.

“Fine, but Adam is going with you.”

A compromise, but he could deal with it if it meant that he’d technically won. As he was leaving he heard someone, who sounded an awful lot like Sam say;

“So fucking whipped Dean.”

 

***

 

When Castiel and Adam pulled up in the parking lot of the library, the alarm was silent and there didn’t seem to be anybody around. He wasn’t sure if the police would turn up or not, but he decided to check the place out just in case.

“I’ll be a couple of minutes okay, Adam?” He swung his leg over the back of the bike. “You wait here.”

“President Winchester said that I’m to stay with you at all times.”

Castiel smiled sweetly at the younger man. “President Winchester can kiss my ass.”

Adam stifled a laugh, before clearing his throat and trying his best to sound authoritative.

_Bless._

“He said you might say that, umm, so his response was,” Adam squinted as if remembering, “’Blow me Cas and do as you’re fucking told’.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes – _bastard_ – and then sighed. “Look Adam, I’m gonna be two minutes. It’s more conducive for you to be outside than in, don’t you think?”

Adam looked mildly uncomfortable. “Yeah, but –“

“No buts, just please?” He gave Adam his nicest smile, one he reserved for getting what he wanted from Gabriel. It was how he'd ended up with a bunch of rare edition, signed-by-the-author books as a housewarming gift.

“Dean will take my patch if he finds out that I didn’t follow orders and I’m so close to getting into the club properly. I can’t lose that.”

Castiel frowned; he didn’t want to get the kid into trouble, but at the same time, he was desperate to prove to Dean that he didn’t possess him. Even if it was just for his own mind – Even if Dean never found out. At least _he’d_ know.

“Well, he doesn’t need to find out. I won’t tell if you won’t?”

Adam bit his lip, considering the offer. “Okay, but two minutes otherwise I’ll be coming in.”

Castiel beamed. “Thanks Adam. You’re a star.”

He strode over to the door and fiddled with his keys, searching for the right one. He felt like the damned janitor with the amount of keys that he had for the place and he was pretty sure that he didn’t even know what at least seven of them did.

Once inside, he flicked the switch to the right of the doorway and the sight that greeted him curdled his blood.

The library was in a complete state of disarray; books were strewn all over the floor with their pages torn out, the reading table to the left near the children’s section was overturned and in the middle of the room, just in front of the central desk was Mr White with a bullet hole in his temple, his body slumped over and lifeless.

Castiel let out a small panicked noise and fumbled to open the door.

“Nuh-uh Castiel. Can’t have that now.”

He froze at the sound of the voice. He slowly turned to look over his shoulder. The man nudged Mr White’s body with a neatly polished shoe as he made his way over to Castiel, a gun with what looked like a silencer on, trained on Cas’s chest.

He was wearing a black suit with an ugly patterned grey tie – which oddly reminded Castiel of his sofa – and he was smiling warmly as if he hadn’t just killed an innocent person and wasn’t holding another one up at gunpoint.

Was he really innocent though? Probably not anymore.

“Hello Castiel, I’m Zachariah. You’re going to come with me.”

***

Dean was getting frantic now. He’d been trying to keep a lid on his worry for Cas, but he’d been gone for over forty minutes when he should have been back after around twenty. He was already going through a thousand different scenarios in his head.

He’d been trying Cas's phone for a good fifteen minutes, but it just kept ringing and ringing and each time it clicked onto voicemail, Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach a little more. Adam wasn’t back yet and when he tried phoning him, the phone vibrated on Dean’s coffee table.

_Stupid kid._

“He’ll be fine brother,” Benny clapped him on the shoulder and offered him a beer.

Dean took it and nodded his thanks. He twisted the lid off and stared at his phone. Still nothing.

He swallowed a large mouthful of the liquid, not really tasting it when Adam finally came running in to the house.

“Dean! Dean! They took Cas!”

“What?” Dean was up out of the chair in an instant, crowding into the kids space, his face twisted into something that he usually reserved for his worst enemies.  

“You wanna run that past me again?”

By now Benny, Sam and the others were behind him, and he could feel someone’s – probably Sam’s – hands on him to stop him from swinging the punch that he was aching to.

Adam swallowed hard, his eyes wide and frantically moving between all of them.

“Cas is… gone.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen - The Devil Is A Loser...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Title is a Lordi song.
> 
> So we've come full circle now!  
> Originally I'd planned for this chapter to be one long one, but as I was writing this first bit this morning, it felt more natural to have it as two slightly shorter ones. Either way, I hope you like it!
> 
> Warnings for torture and a brief mention of rape.

“Ah back with us again I see, Castiel.” The man tsked softly to himself. “Would have thought that you’d hold out longer – you talked a big game, but a little cutting and you’re passing out on us.”

Castiel shifted his weight in the chair, trying his best to focus on something – _anything_ – other than the man’s taunting words. His vision was blurry like when he tried to read without his glasses and his skin felt like it was on fire, which at various points in the last few hours it had been; the exposed skin on his arms was already blistering from the cigarette and lighter burns.

The torture of having someone smoke directly in front of him had been almost as bad as the, well, y’know. _Torture._

His shirt was laying in tatters around his feet and the drying blood mixed with sweat in his hair and on his face and body was starting to itch. The slashes on his stomach stung like a motherfucker; he’d have some interesting scars when it all healed.

Of course, that was assuming that he got out of there alive. Assuming that Dean was even looking for him.

_Of course he fucking is._

He was probably tearing Adam a new one for not following orders and letting Cas go into the library by himself.

_Poor Adam…_

His chin was tucked in tightly against his chest, his arms still drawn forcefully – and painfully – behind him, gasping for breath, when the man bent over and lifted Castiel’s chin with his fore and middle fingers.

“Where’s your Knight in Shining Armour now, hmm?” His smirk was cruel, mocking.

“Fuck you.” Castiel spat in his slimy face, immensely satisfied when a gob of spit and blood got the asshole directly in the eye.

His thin upper lip curled back in a snarl and his eyes turned even harder. He straightened up slowly and ominously, wiping the mess away on the back of his sleeve, stepping away a fraction and then he backhanded Castiel as if he were swatting a fly. Like he was a mere inconvenience.

“I see you’re not really learning anything here. Which means neither am I.”

Castiel let his eyes flutter closed, using his remaining strength for fighting against the pain currently reverberating throughout his entire body. He heard those damn boots gradually moving away and then the door was being hauled open.

_What the fuck is that smell?_

For a few moments, all he could hear was murmurings from what he guessed was the corridor, but other than that, the place was totally silent.

He wished Dean was there. Not even just to save him – though, yes fucking please – but just to laugh with him like he had at his party a few weeks ago. The laugh that made Castiel realise that the world wasn’t such a dark place after all, his present situation included. That was the first thing he was gonna do when – _if –_ no, **_when_** – he got out of here; he was going to set Dean’s laugh as his ringtone. Like he’d wanted to do since the first time he'd heard it.

And pretty much _anything_ was better than that fucking ridiculous Kiss song.

There was a sound of something being scraped across the concrete and then Zachariah appeared in his peripheral vision, dragging a chair behind him until he stopped a couple of feet directly in front of Cas.

“Hello again Castiel. Well you’re looking decidedly worse than you were last time I saw you, but then again Alistair is very thorough.”

Castiel scoffed. “I don’t know how many times I can keep repeating this, but… fuck you.”

Zachariah laughed, unbuttoned his suit jacket with one hand and sat down on the chair, which creaked under his weight.

_Fat fuck._

His lips twitched against a smile when he remembered the conversation with Dean that morning about his lard ass. As _if_ Dean was fat in any way, but the adorable look of hurt on his face had been priceless.

“Well we’ve got some time to kill before our friend comes back, so as a gesture of good will, you can ask me anything you want.” He picked at a speck of dirt on the right trouser leg of his suit. “I do love a good villain monologue where I explain how cunning and masterful our plan was.”

Castiel grit his teeth.

_Fucking spare me._

Instead, he muttered, “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Oh, okay. Well maybe I should start at the beginning.”

He leaned back in the chair as if he were telling an old friend at a dinner party about his holiday villa in Spain.

“You see Dean and Alistair were in jail together. Alistair saw something in Dean – don’t know what, never seen it myself – and wanted to take him under his wing. Dean kept on refusing until he was released. He engaged in some pretty strong emotional warfare whilst he was inside, but Dean never cracked.”

_‘You’re made of tougher stuff, baby’._

Castiel didn’t fight the smile that came to his lips this time; despite it feeling like his entire face was going to split in two. A surge of pride rushed through him; he had first-hand experience of Alistair’s ‘methods’ now and whilst they had undoubtedly been different for Dean due to the confines of prison, he was under no illusion that they would have been any less affecting or brutal.

And he had endured it for four years against Cas’s four hours.

“Just tell me where I come into in all this. Don’t tell me that I’m the bait, because that is so fucking predictable.” Castiel was already bored of Zachariah’s bullshit, but it was better than getting cut up.

_Only marginally. Pompous windbag._

“Well you see that night you spoke to Marv – he’s kind of our scout if you will – he followed you home from the library and then on to the Roadhouse. Where he found someone with a Wendigos patch and told them that if he roughed you up a bit, we wouldn’t kill his family.”

“You were the ones who framed Dean for murder.” It wasn’t a question.

“Oh _that_? That was just a bit of fun; well at first anyway. We weren’t expecting Dean to go rushing after you so soon. We just wanted Theo to rape you to create some bad blood between the Wendigos and Dean’s MC. Simple. But your man reacted so _beautifully,_ we couldn’t miss an opportunity like that! So after Dean’s possessive little display, we had Theo disposed of, knowing that Dean would be the primary suspect.”

Castiel’s head was reeling and not just from the physical pain any more.

“You must have known that he would have got off on a murder charge, though?”

“Of course.” Zachariah said derisively, apparently offended that Castiel thought that he might be a mere amateur or something. “We weren’t prepared enough to _properly_ frame him, but even with your alibi – which the Wendigos wouldn’t believe, because of course one of theirs had tried to rape you, so you probably would have said anything in Dean’s defence – it would be too late; the seed of doubt was already planted and thus the massive shootout you were witness to.”

Zachariah looked sickeningly smug with himself, his smile was shark like; all teeth and no real feeling behind it.

A realisation dawned on Cas.

“Are you Z. Adler?”

Zachariah grinned wider. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

So this was the guy on that bank statement he’d found that Dean had refused to talk about. Things were slowly starting to make sense now, clicking into place. Of course they would have made sense a lot fucking sooner if Dean had the capacity to not be a dickhead and instead had just told him what the Hell had been going on all this time.

“Who’s Fergus Crowley?”

Zachariah’s face fell and he pressed lips together in a thin line. He looked spectacularly unimpressed.

“A worm, that’s who Crowley is. Tried to betray us to help the Winchesters. We attempted to have him disposed of when we found out that he was less than trustworthy, but he escaped. So then we tried to set him up with the LMC. Faked some accounts that we’d knew they’d find so that those stupid idiots would think Crowley was betraying _them_ instead.”

“But _why_? What’s the end game? Why all this shit with Crowley and the Wendigos? Why not just kill Dean?” He felt sick for _thinking_ it, but he had to know. It was such a convoluted way of going about things, especially when they must have had multiple opportunities to hurt or kill Dean and the others.

“Ah, well that’s where our master torturer comes in. Of course his official title is a hitman, but he does love a good carving – as I’m sure you can attest to.” He winked at Castiel, who struggled not to puke all over the scumbags expensive suit.

“He wanted Dean all to himself again.” He leaned forward into Castiel’s personal space, and stage whispered, almost comically. “If you ask me, he’s a little obsessed.”

Castiel just sneered.

_Under-fucking-statement._

“He wanted him desperate enough to say yes to anything. Alistair wanted to break him into a thousand pieces trying to keep his family safe and then when Dean was at his lowest ebb, he’d swoop in and _persuade_ him over to his way of thinking.”

He shivered involuntarily at Zachariah’s emphasis on the word ‘persuade’. There was nothing gentle or passive about Alistairs methods of _persuasion._

“Yeah, well. Dean is far from being at his lowest.” Castiel replied smugly. He’d happily put the man back together after the death of Ash and he’d do it a million times over if it meant he could wake up with Dean every morning for the rest of his life.

No matter how short it may be about to become.

“Oh we know, thanks to you. Which is why when we kill you – in front of him – he’ll be totally devastated.” Zachariah folded his hands behind his head and relaxed back in the chair. “Brilliant isn’t it?”

Truthfully, Castiel thought that it was far from brilliant, but he kept it to himself.

“And what are you getting out of all this? Besides keeping your pet psychopath happy, of course.”

“Well, we get to run our guns through this part of Kansas.” Zachariah said, his brow creased together as if the answer was obvious and Castiel was just slow on the uptake.

Castiel couldn’t actually believe it. He’d been expecting some Holy Grail quest or some shit, but for money? It was all so… unoriginal.  “You did all this for territory? People _died_ so that you could add some mid-western backwater shithole to your damn resume?”

Zachariah shrugged and rose from his seat, brushing down the front of his suit with the back of his hand.

“Business is a cut-throat world.”

The door opened once more and it was those boots crunching through grit again. Cas was pretty sure that if he lived – which was starting to look less plausible as the minutes ticked by – that it would be the sound he heard in his nightmares.

“You can have a phone call with Dean.” Zachariah said as Alistair squatted down in front of Cas, his back to the abandoned chair, holding the ringing phone up to Cas’s ear which was slick with his own blood. “Make it quick.”

There was a click at the other end and then Sam’s voice. “Hello?”

“Sam, can you get Dean?” He croaked, already feeling slightly more emotional than he’d like to admit.

“Holy fucking shit!” He must have turned away from the microphone, because it sounded quieter when he said, “Dean, it’s Cas! He’s on my phone… “

There was a sound of movement and rustling, then Dean was at the other end.

“Cas? Cas baby where the fuck are you? Please tell me where you are.” Castiel flicked his eyes up to Alistair’s face, silently seeking permission, knowing that he could hear well enough to know what Dean was saying. Alistair nodded.

“Um, I don’t really know… but it’s a warehouse or something and the floors are covered in this weird… silty stuff, and the air smells like… “ He trailed off looking for the right word. He still couldn’t put his finger on the weird odour that permeated the building.

“Ammonia and eggs?” Dean offered, sounding ridiculously hopeful.

“Yeah!” That was it! It wasn’t as strong in the room he was currently in, but every time the door opened, the disgusting smell seemed to waft in.

Castiel heard a muffled, “He’s at Crowley’s place. Get the guys. Fucking go!”

“Dean?” He wanted to draw his time on the phone out for as long as he could. He didn’t know if this was the last time that he’d ever get to speak to him – or anyone else he cared about. He hoped not; mainly so that he could call him every name under the sun for not already being here and rescuing his ass.

“Yeah baby?” His voice was back on the line, loud and clear again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” And he was. Though it didn’t mean that if he got out alive, that he’d suddenly start doing everything Dean said, but he’d at least _consider_ it.

A heartbroken sound. “No-o Cas, don’t ever be sorry. It’s my fault for keeping you in the dark. Maybe if you’d known –”

“Time to go Castiel!” Alistair called chirpily, starting to pull the phone away. Cas strained his neck to keep listening to Dean.

Dean’s voice sounded tight and constricted, like he was trying hard to hold back. “Cas, I’ll be there soon baby, I promise okay? Just hang on in there.”

Castiel could feel the tears welling up behind his eyes.

“’Kay Dean.” He whispered as Alistair yanked the phone completely away and flipped it shut.

Castiel closed his eyes, feeling the hot tears over spilling onto his cheeks, soaking into one of the cuts on his cheekbones. It stung, but he barely noticed.

The psychopath straightened up and loomed over Castiel. He turned to Zachariah who was looking on at the scene with an insouciance that Castiel couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“Well that might be the most wretched thing I’ve ever witnessed and I’ve had people begging for their lives, wanting to sell their souls – the souls of their kids – to me. Congratulations Castiel, you and Dean are officially the most pathetic things in the world.”

“Yeah?” Castiel sniffled. “Well, once again. Fuck you.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen - ...And He's My Bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have cheated a little with this chapter title as it's just a line from the same Lordi song!  
> Warnings for character deaths and allusion to rape.  
> Final chapter :(  
> You guys who have been religiously commenting, people who have been leaving Kudos and/or bookmarking this story... well, you're all brilliant.  
> Thank you.

Things were not going to plan.

Not that they really had one beyond getting in and out, killing as many men as possible whilst getting shot as little as possible. Oh and kill Alistair. That was not up for discussion or argument.

Which was how Dean ended up in the parking lot of a warehouse in the middle of nowhere, using his precious bike for cover.

As soon as Dean had gotten the heart breaking phone call from the usually tough-as-balls Cas; the same guy that had been prepared to greet fuck knows how many Wendigos with nothing but a baseball bat and a pair of sweats – who had sounded so fucking broken that it almost ruined Dean to hear him – they’d raced towards Crowley’s place, breaking several traffic laws on the way, Bobby and Benny in front of him, the others behind. About half of the guys had come along; everyone else had stayed behind in the bunker to keep an eye on the families that Dean refused to release until this whole fucking episode was behind them.

There’d been no time to formulate a strategy and Dean was pretty sure that it would have been entirely redundant anyway, as Alistair was well aware that they were on their way and he almost certainly knew the building better than Dean’s crew. He would have all the better hiding places mapped out. Alistair was nothing if not a stickler for perfection and comprehensiveness.

So, they’d rushed in, guns blazing as per Dean’s usual MO and of course, the ever-sensible Sam was only _now_ insisting that this was a bad idea as bullets pinged off the chrome of Dean’s Thunderbird.

_Captain fucking obvious, Sam._

“If you’ve got any better ideas Sammy, then I’m all ears!”

The three or so men on the roof were relentless and Dean was seriously beginning to doubt his apparently fool proof method of bulldozing into confrontation, when another guy appeared in the main double doorway with an AK-47.

_Well, fuck._

He was extremely thankful that he’d thought ahead enough to grab his vest, as a bullet whizzed past his ear, missing by inches.

Bobby whistled across the lot from his position of cover on the corner next to one of the big steel doors. “Over here!”

Dean and Sam exchanged a meaningful glance, before rising to a crouch, and began making their way over to Bobby. The other guys had thrown their bikes down into the gravel too – and were also currently using them for cover – so it actually made quite a convenient conga line of metal.

_Heh, Conga line of metal. Awesome name for a band._

“Benny, Rufus, Garth, Andy, you’re with me, Sam and Bobby. The rest of you stay put and kill these fuckers. Good luck boys.”

By the time they rounded the corner where Bobby was – guns drawn and backs flattened against the wall – the rate of bullets had significantly slowed down, which could only possibly mean one of three things; Dean’s guys had been lucky enough to get a decent shot, the shooters had run out of ammo, or a couple of them were now were waiting for them on the inside.

Dean knew which scenario his money was on.

“Squirrel!” Dean scowled and glanced around, trying to find the source of the voice. The only person who called him squirrel was –

“Crowley?” Dean squinted. Sticking his rather bruised and battered looking face out of the emergency exit door about twenty foot away along the same expanse of wall, was the asshole himself. His usually pristine suit looked like it had seen better days and his expression was one of hard determination rather than the smug nonchalance that Dean had come to associate with the man.

“The fuck happened to you?”

Crowley stared at him as if Dean had just fallen out of the sky. “I walked into a door. What the fuck do you think happened to me Rocky?!”

Dean jogged over to him, beckoning Sam, Rufus and Benny too. Bobby, Andy and Garth stayed at the corner.

One by one they stepped inside where it was surprisingly dark; the only real illumination coming from the windows a good ten feet up. The door clunked shut behind them and Crowley put a finger to his lips.

“Listen. Alistair, Zachariah and that Lilith bitch are up those stairs-“ he pointed to some grim looking concrete steps down the corridor. “-to the left. There’s a small room up there, the third one down. That’s where your boy is.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and looked at Crowley doubtfully.

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?”

“And who the fuck is Lilith?” Benny added.

“Believe me, don’t believe me, I’m just trying to help.”

“Why?” Dean wasn’t going to let it go until he was satisfied with an answer. “And seriously, what happened to you?”

Crowley heaved a sigh. “For fucks sake. I’m helping you because I want to. And if you kill the fuckers, there’s a chance that I may escape with my _own_ hide. As for your other question; Lilith happened to me. She’s technically Alistair’s boss, though she does occasionally like to partake. I was a guinea pig.” He gestured to his face. “Though, she’s not so great at tying knots so when she left, I managed to get free. It won’t be long before the guards come a-searching though.”

“And Cas, have you seen him? Is he okay?”

For the first time since Dean had known Crowley, the guy actually looked _sympathetic_. It was enough to make his blood run cold.

“I haven’t seen him, but I’ve heard him.” He admitted, voice heavy with implication, which made Dean ball his gun-free hand into a fist. He was going to rip Alistair apart, limb-from-limb.

At Sam’s sideways glance he took a deep breath, trying to regain his equilibrium. He needed to be level-headed for what was about to come.

“Okay. Rufus, you stay with Crowley. If he tries anything, shoot him.”

He could feel Crowley glowering at the side of his face, but Dean carried on regardless.

“Find someplace to hide until we give the all-clear. VP, Sergeant – with me.”

They took off towards the stairs – Dean in the lead – being careful where they put their feet. The place was already clearly somewhere that the local junkies came to shoot up and he could do without adding HIV to the list of his problems right now.

As he neared the top of the stairs, Dean heard a sound that would haunt him forever; the sound of Cas in genuine pain and distress. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the Glock – his revolver was safely tucked into his waistband – and walked forwards, with the other two men following close behind – Benny with a shotgun at the ready and Sam with his pistol.

A door on the right suddenly opened and Dean swung to face the noise, his finger lying along the trigger guard, ready to shoot. He knew full well that Alistair was twisted enough to push Cas out into the corridor expecting Dean to kill his… _whatever the fuck_ Cas was.

It wasn’t Castiel.

It was Marv, who looked surprised in the split second before Dean rammed the butt of his gun into the assholes face, sending him crashing to the floor unconscious.

“Cunt,” He spat on the man’s insentient form.

Subtlety had never been Dean’s strong suit.

Within seconds, there was a woman in an ugly pantsuit, striding towards them, arm out-stretched, gun in her hand, aimed at Dean’s head. Dean wasn’t quick enough at recovering from cold-cocking Marv to counter.

“Dean Winchester,” She purred as if she were the sexiest thing to grace the Earth. Dean felt nothing but revulsion. “You’re quite the dish in person aren’t you? Not so sure about the tall one and the overly butch one though.”

He could see in his periphery that Sam had his pistol aimed at her. He assumed that she was currently facing the barrel of Benny’s shotgun too.

He shrugged apologetically. “Outnumbered by three-to-one sweetheart.”

“I could always even up the numbers a bit by taking you out, couldn’t I Dean?” She was standing close enough to him now that he could almost _taste_ her cloyingly sweet perfume and she yanked Dean’s gun out of his hand and pointed it in the direction of his brother and best friend.

“But you won’t.” Dean smirked, all false bravado, because he _really_ wasn’t so sure about that. “I mean, if Alistair has gone to all this trouble to get me here, then he isn’t gonna be best pleased if you kill me. And we all know how Alistair treats people who upset him.”

Lilith smiled, but it was a dead smile; cold and detached.

“You may be right there.”

The two consecutive shots happened so quickly, that neither Sam nor Benny had time to react. And then they were collapsing to the floor, and in that split second Dean was hauling the revolver out of his jeans waistband and putting it to her head with a grim determination.

“Adios, bitch.”

The whole thing was over in a matter of seconds and it was only as he was staring down at her lifeless body that he heard the low groan from behind him.

_Sam and Benny._

He darted over to them. “Stay quiet so they think you’re dead. I’m going in for Cas.” He whispered. “Get ready to back me up.” And then he was off towards the room where _Cas_ was, only stopping to prise his Glock from her fingers, thanking the inventor of Kevlar for his brother and best friend still being alive.

When he reached the doorway of the room, he stopped dead, frozen in horror.

The sick fuck was gripping Cas by his hair, head yanked right back, throat exposed to the shiny blade of his knife. There was another portentous-looking asshole standing next to some kind of table with all sorts of bloody blades on it. Blades that had apparently been used on Cas, if his appearance was anything to go by.

He walked a couple of paces towards Alistair, who tightened his grip on Castiel’s hair. “Now now, Dean-o. Drop your weapons or I’ll kill your angel.”

Dean sank to the floor, holding his arms out so that Alistair could see him drop his revolver and Glock onto the concrete, taking the opportunity to scan the room for any other potential weapons.

_None. Fuck._

He straightened back up, still holding his hands out.

“Dean, don’t!” Cas cried out. “He’s gonna kill me any-“ Cas was cut off when the blade sliced into his neck and a small rivulet of blood spilled out.

“Let him go Alistair.” He was surprised with how steady his voice sounded, when internally he was quite possibly the most scared he’d ever been. Previous times with Alistair included. Except this time, it wasn’t himself he was scared for; it was his brave, beautiful _Cas_ whose entire body was a canvas of blood and pain; his fingertips were bleeding where the nails had been removed and cuts zig-zagged across his torso. The bastard had even cut over the ink across his ribs.

He felt physically sick.

“Such love for him, but none for me?” Alistair said in mock hurt.

“Well, what can I say? He’s a giver in the sack.”

He saw Cas’s eyes widen at the insinuation.

Alistair grinned. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t enjoy it Dean.”

Dean remained tight-lipped, unable to take his eyes off Cas. His bound arms were marred with what looked like cigarette burns and his face was awash with purpling bruises. It made him want to _destroy_ Alistair.

“I must admit that it’s good to see that you haven’t lost your edge, Dean. I was worried that you wouldn’t live up to my memory.”

When he was greeted with tense silence again, he carried on unperturbed.

“I missed you, y’know. I’ve never found someone with quite so much… potential as you.”

“The feeling isn’t mutual – believe me – you sick psychopath.”

Alistair laughed; a chilling, trickling sound. It made his skin crawl. There had been nights in jail when he couldn’t get to sleep for Alistair’s laugh in his head, cruelly taunting him. Once, not long after he’d arrived, he’d gone five days without sleep until he’d been taken to the infirmary with hallucinations. All part of Alistair’s agenda.

“Well, I’m sure that once your little boy toy is out of the way you’ll be begging for me all over again.”

“Oh, I don’t think so Alistair.”

“Y’know,” The smug douchebag – Zachariah, Dean presumed – was striding towards him to pick up the guns. “I think I’m starting to see it now Alistair. What you see in Dean, that is. He’s quite the righteous man despite being nothing more than a low-level criminal himself. It’s going to be fun breaking him.”

Dean glared at the balding mafia boss. “Go fuck yourself chuckles.”

Alistair laughed his creepy laugh again.

“You and Castiel here really are a match made in _Heaven_ aren’t you Dean? It’s a shame that I have to eradicate him really.”

Dean needed to kill time, needed to keep him talking; Sam and Benny would undoubtedly be recovered from their attempted murder and were quite possibly already halfway down the corridor, though it was hard for Dean to judge as it was deadly silent behind him.

_Good job Sammy._

Dean frantically reeled through all of the things that he knew about Alistair; there was no reasoning with the man – he enjoyed hurting people for fun – and so there was no point in appealing to his emotional side, but there was _one_ thing that he did want. Something he’d already used to his advantage against Lilith, but it was the best, _the only,_ card he had.

Himself.

“Let him go Alistair.”

Zachariah and Alistair shared a look of amusement.

“And why would I do that, hmm Dean?”

Zachariah leaned forward, keen to hear Dean’s answer.

“Well. You have two choices. Either you let him go and I’ll come with you, no fuss –“

“No!” Castiel twisted wildly in his seat, only stilling when Alistair pushed the blade deeper.

Dean swallowed hard. “– or, you kill Cas and I kill myself too.”

“Oh my.” Zachariah said, hand on his heart. “That’s very Romeo and Juliet, but how is _both_ of you dead a downside for us?”

“It might not be for you,” He nodded towards Alistair. “But it is for him.”

Alistair was the very picture of rage; body taut, nostrils flaring and lips set in a thin line. “You prize yourself too highly Dean.”

There was the whisper of fabric behind him; far too quiet for the two who were further into the room to hear, but Dean caught it in Dolby-fucking-digital surround sound.

“It’s quite the opposite actually. I was just trying to buy some time.” He flashed a devious grin and then Benny and Sam were bursting in like something out of a cop movie.

There was no fucking about; no long speeches about how they were gonna die, Sam simply shot Zachariah in the head before he was even through the doorway and Benny got Alistair in the shoulder, flinging him away from Cas – his knife narrowly missing Castiel’s leg and clashing to the floor.

“Here, brother.” Benny handed off the shotgun to Dean, who nodded his thanks at his friend and Sam – who was recovering Dean’s guns from Zachariah’s corpse. “Can you go check on the others Benny? Sam, keep guard in case any other _Angels_ come out of the woodwork.”

He stalked around past the chair that Cas was tied to, ignoring the small whimpering sounds he was making – if he stopped to take care of Cas, he wouldn’t finish what he needed to.

“I’ll be there in a second baby, just a little longer.”

He turned his attention to the man who had haunted his nightmares for the last nine years.

“Hello Alistair.” He sneered, standing above him – a boot either side of his head – calmly regarding the man who was so used to doling out pain, getting to receive it for a change. He looked kinda pathetic actually – like a cockroach – laying on his back, grimacing at a little shoulder wound, like he hadn’t done ten times worse to both him and Cas.

Dean held the shotgun in his face.

“Can’t say I enjoyed our time together in the way you did. But I’m definitely gonna enjoy this.”

The blood spattered up the legs of his jeans and Dean instantaneously felt almost dizzy with relief. It was too good a way for the monster who had ruined his life to die – too quick – but he had more pressing issues.

_Cas._

“Baby,” He turned around to Castiel, who was slumped over, chin to chest, softly moaning. Dean’s fingers fumbled to undo the tight knots that bound Cas’s arms behind his back to the chair. “Sam! Knife!”

He looked at Castiel’s face, which despite the state he was in, had a faint smiling playing on his lips. “Took you long enough Winchester.”

Dean snorted a laugh which was more relief than humour.

_Cas is okay._

“Are all our bikes fucked?” Dean asked over his shoulder as Sam approached and handed Dean his knife. He began cutting at the ropes.

“Er, I think so.”

_Shit._

“Any chance of someone jacking a car so I can get Cas to a hospital?”

“Use mine, Squirrel.” Crowley appeared in the doorway with some of the guys behind him.

“Everybody okay?” He called out as the rope finally gave way with a small _puh!_

“Everyone’s alive,” Bobby’s voice. “Got a couple of bullet wounds but nothing to really write home about. All of Zachariah’s men in this place are dead. Found an alive one in the corridor. We soon changed that for him.”

Dean grinned.

A few seconds later, the ropes around Cas’s ankles were gone too and he was gently lifting Cas into his arms, sweeping an arm under Cas’s knees when his legs buckled, being careful not to press too tightly against any of his wounds. It reminded him of that first night outside the Roadhouse. Apart from the horrific wounds of course. His stomach gave a lurch when he caught a glimpse of the blisters on his arms before Sam covered him with his hoodie, gently laying it on his chest.

Cas smiled his thanks.

“Hey,” Dean mumbled as Castiel wound his arms around his neck. His grip was loose, but still _there._

“Hey,” Cas replied, looking up at him with his baby blues. Dean felt a twinge of warmth in his chest.

He cleared his throat.

“You look rough as shit, Cas.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re just the epitome of elegance and beauty right now.”

Dean chuckled. 

_Thank fuck he’s okay._

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Dean followed Crowley and the others down the stairs and back out of the emergency exit.

Even when they went past the row of _destroyed_ bikes, Dean kept quiet. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Cas, _his Cas_ , was safe.

It was only after Dean was behind the wheel of Crowley’s crappy Fiat, driving to the nearest hospital, with Cas lying on a blanket covering the back seat – Sam’s hoodie still loosely covering him – that Dean dared to speak.

“Babe?” He met Cas’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Mhm?”

“You do know that Bert and Ernie are totally gay for each other, right?”

Castiel shifted slightly to look at him properly, one bloodied eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Really?” He asked incredulously.  “We’re gonna have a conversation about this _now_?”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” His eyes flicked to the road and then back to Cas’s in the mirror, “If I’m gonna commit to putting up with your desire to get yourself killed at every opportunity, then I need to know that you have my back on the little things.”

Talking about being in a _proper_ relationship with Cas was easier when he could drink or joke, and being as there was no booze in sight, then jokes it was.

Castiel stared at him, open mouthed for several seconds, before he seemed to remember himself.

“Fuck you and your handsome face, Dean Winchester.”

Dean laughed loud and threw Cas his best filthy wink in the mirror. “Later, Twinkie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is!  
> After much (not really) deliberation, I decided that there's just no way that I can let these characters go, so there will almost certainly be a sequel!  
> Any ideas? Just let me know.
> 
>  
> 
> Oh and again, thank you.


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